Lavinia
by editor frog
Summary: An unsub with an odd penchant brings the team into the world of a silent college campus, with a mysterious woman as their guide...
1. Silence

**Hello all. This one's been bouncing in my head for a while, and though I have lots of others in limbo, I'm gonna go ahead with this one. Please note that I am not hearing-impaired, so any information that is in error is 'cause I just don't know, even with the research. Hope you enjoy!  
**

* * *

**A/N: In this fic people will be speaking using American Sign Language as well as spoken English. If you see little dashes on the side of dialogue, it means it's being signed. If there's quotations _and _dashes, it's being signed and spoken.**

* * *

_Silence._

_It wrapped around everything like an invisible cloak, turning the dark night into a silent movie with no subtitles. _

_He could see the couple walking along the side path, fingers flying, faces contorting as their conversation carried on. The girl was staring into his eyes, taking in every flick of movement that his hands conveyed._

--Come on, tell me—what's it sound like?--

--It's strange. Like when you rub your fingers in sand. Scratchy.--

--Doesn't it bug you? The cochlear, I mean? Ruins your hairline…--

The young man smiled at his girlfriend. --No. Well, taking a shower is harder, because it can't get wet, but still…--

_The conversation carried on. Obviously they were in love. It won't last, now that he's "changed." Become someone else—taken another piece of his world and destroyed it, making it smaller._

_He walks up, passing the happy couple. Smiles. Waves. It never occurs to the girl to run after he hits her boyfriend square in the head. Boyfriend, for all his work at hearing, doesn't even hear her scream. Seconds later, she too falls silent._

_Pulling out a long, jagged knife, he sets about his work. They were going to destroy his world. His language, his culture—everything that makes him "him."_

_And for that, they should be silenced._

* * *

The lights were off in JJ Jareau's office early that morning. In fact, the entire BAU bullpen was swathed in complete and total darkness.

_Someone forget to flip on the backup lights?_ the agent thought as she made her way into her office. The lights in the bullpen flickered, but never made their way to full power. Climbing the stairs, she strolled towards the door with her nameplate on it and fished around for the key. To her surprise, the door was slightly ajar.

"What the…" she began, reaching to put her hand on her sidearm. She always locked that door. _Always._ With all the files and records that passed over her desk for the team, she knew better than to leave the door ajar, inviting someone to pick through all that paperwork and try something that could cause backlash.

JJ reached for the light switch and flipped the tab upward. The lights never flickered.

"Good morning," a voice said suddenly, startling her. JJ pulled the pistol out of her holster and aimed it at the source.

"Federal agent," she snapped. "Show yourself." The pistol in her hand never wavered.

The figure sitting in the chair across from the door rose slowly, taking careful steps towards her. "Agent Jareau, it's best for now we don't have the lights on. Technically, I'm not supposed to be here…"

"I said, show yourself!"

The figure stepped into the little bit of light that flickered from the bullpen. The face was one JJ recognized, but only vaguely.

"I know you from somewhere…" she said, lowering the gun.

"Three years ago. Your unsub was trying to take out a few people I had to look after. I assume things have been better since?" the woman said, smiling.

"Chase," JJ said, heaving a sigh of relief. "What are you doing here?"

"There's a problem at my 'other job,'" the woman said, returning to her seat. JJ sat down at her desk and flipped on the desk lamp—it was run by a battery, and provided just enough light to see.

"What sort of 'problem'?"

The woman—Chase—pulled out a thin manila envelope. "You been hearing about those murders just outside DC?"

JJ scanned her recollections a minute. "Four bodies, laid out in plain sight, hands and tongues cut out?"

"Yep. That's them."

"What about them?"

"Those bodies? They're all people connected to the Institute campus. And there's two more." The woman slid over another envelope, white this time, containing a second series of photographs. "David Lincoln and Abby Kensington. Murdered last night, and left like this. That's six in two months, JJ. Now, I'm good—well, better than good—but this even I can't quite figure out. And I have the feeling more will be next."

JJ's eyes widened. "I'll talk to the team, first thing. They should be coming in any minute now."

"Early risers, huh?"

"You should know. I assume you've done your homework?"

"Always." Chase sat back in the chair a moment. "Until you talk with them, can I assume that officially I'm not in this building?"

JJ looked on at the figure, sitting comfortably in the shadows. "Of course," she said, tossing a smile over her shoulder as she went to set up the round table room.

_If Chase is here, then there's something completely wrong, _she thought. _She doesn't come in for just anything…_


	2. Chase

**Hello all. Thanks for the reviews. Please see Ch 1 for disclaimers.**

* * *

"…and these two were found just today?"

"Late last night. Two students stumbled over them, just laid out on the sidewalk."

"What's that there? That white thing just behind his ear?"

"That," JJ replied, "is a cochlear implant. David Lincoln had the procedure done just over a month ago."

"I've heard of those," Emily Prentiss said, staring at the picture a little more. "Lets deaf people hear, right?"

"Actually, the device only amplifies sound waves that the nerves in the ear are already processing," said her colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid, as if he'd just read up on it in the _New England Journal of Medicine. _"It works if there's something to amplify, but not in a profoundly deaf individual that has no working sound receptors to attach the device to."

David Rossi looked over the six photographs. "Any of these other kids have an implant?"

"Only one other, Alicia Faulkner. She was the first victim, found two months ago, and then it was believed to be an isolated incident."

"Her hands and tongue cut out, and it was an isolated incident?" Derek Morgan asked. "I mean, who does that? What's this unsub trying to say here?"

"All the victims are around eighteen to twenty-five, all posed, all mutilated in the same way," murmured Aaron Hotchner. "Was there any other signs of assault?"

"No," JJ replied. "Pretty much what you see is what happened."

"Okay," said Rossi. "Six individuals, all murdered, all having their hands and tongues cut out, all found on a college campus for the deaf. Is this unsub trying to say something about the deaf community? Or about the handicapped in general?"

"Actually, we thought Lavinia was trying to shut people up about something," a voice said, coming from the back of the room. Six heads spun as they focused on a young woman sitting behind them, as if she'd simply appeared out of nowhere and always been there.

"Who are you?" a myriad of voiced asked, puzzled.

"Everyone, this is Chase Davis," JJ said, making the quick introduction. "She's the one who brought this to my attention."

"I do a lot of things for the college," Chase explained. "One of those things is make sure things like _that_"-- she waved a hand at the photographs—"don't happen. With Alicia, we thought someone was it was isolated, a garden variety psycho, but after the next two victims we started looking at things and coming up with nothing."

"We?" Hotch asked.

"Security for the college. It's a different world there, Agent Hotchner—one where they'll try themselves before going outside the community for help. Some people there don't like the hearing world much. The current president of the college is one of them, but in this case he can't have kids being slaughtered on his campus and not bring in help."

"He would keep us out?" Reid asked.

"Yes, doctor, he would."

"Then why are we even looking at this?" Morgan asked.

"Let's just say there's six families that need closure, and about 7,000 more that need someone to find Lavinia before she does this again. Now, if you don't want to take this, I understand—but frankly, I get the feeling this is gonna be harder to solve without your help. Are you in?"

Each team member looked at the photographs. Each one's mind filled with questions about just what they would be getting into when a phone went off.

"That's me," Chase said, looking down at her Blackberry. She read the display quickly, then heaved an exasperated sigh.

"What is it?"

"There's another one. She's getting quicker. Less than twenty-four hours." Chase shook her head. "I've never seen anything like this. I'm having everything sent now, unless you want to talk to my people directly?"

"Talk?"

"You have someone who can set up a video feed?"

"Garcia," Morgan said, dialing a number.

A few minutes later, a screen cropped up. Chase stood toward the side, waving at he man on the other end of the line.

"—Hey, what do you know?—" she said, her fingers flying as fast as she spoke.

—Bad, Chase,-- the man signed. —These your friends?—

"—Yeah,--" she said. "—The victim, Kyle?—"

A series of photograph cropped up in the corners of the screen. A young man lay facedown, his arms set over his head, hands missing.

"Thomas Daniel," Chase translated. "We're seeing it just as they found him, not twenty minutes ago." The woman's fingers flew again, and Emily noticed a peculiar sign she made with her hands.

"What's this mean?" she asked, repeating the sign—the thumb and forefinger set in an "L" shape, cutting across the opposite wrist. The motion was repeated, with the "L" and the wrist being opposite.

"That's the sign for 'Lavinia,'" the younger woman explained. "I know it's bad form to give these people a name, but it's a lot easier to have a sign rather than spelling out long words ."

"You couldn't make a sign for "unsub?" Morgan asked.

"There are just over 4000 signs in American Sign Language, Agent Morgan. Some words just don't translate, so you make things up. Perhaps before we're done you can make a sign for that," Chase said plainly.

"Okay, that's enough," Hotch said. "Can you tell your colleague we'll take this case and be there as soon as possible?"

Chase's fingers flew, and she spoke as she signed. "—We'll be there in a bit, Kyle. Get the rest together, and have the office set up.—"


	3. Outlines and Symbols

**Please see the disclaimers in Chapter 1.**

* * *

_Their eyes are cold. Cold and dead. Vacant as the space they left in the world—__**their**__ world._

_Last one was too much of a hypocrite. Kept going on and on about how there was someone slaughtering people and no one saw or cared. _

_Little did he know, I saw—saw as he railed for "our" rights and yet slept with every available hearing person he could find. Male, female, hell, even a talking parrot might have suited him. Good riddance._

_The whole place is in an uproar. Don't they get it?_

_I'm trying to save us. From __**them**__…_

* * *

It seemed a little surreal to Emily Prentiss. After all, she was standing in the middle of an active crime scene, and there were people in suits and blue uniforms going about their jobs, but there was barely a sound to be heard. She watched with interest as several crime scene analysts were waiting to have their findings translated into sign.

"Odd, isn't it," a voice said, floating up over her shoulder.

"No. Just…different, I suppose. No worse than going to the corner store and having to remember if the owner spoke English, Arabic or Farsi."

"I forgot about that," her colleague said. "It's just…I feel like I'm missing something, and I'm not quite sure what it is."

The two agents were waiting in line as Chase Davis was gathering the information. The team had soon learned that though some people on the campus of the Campbell Institute for the Deaf spoke English as well as they did, only a fraction of a percent could actually hear, and very few bothered to speak outright—many just moved their lips to make the words as they signed.

"Sorry about that," Chase said. "Remind me to dig up another translator when we get a minute."

Both Emily and Hotch were taking the most recent crime scene. The rest were off scouring other venues for any information that might lead to their unsub—"Lavinia," as "she" was known around here.

"Thomas Daniel, twenty-one, and a bit of an outspoken character. Was in my office at least twice a day for the last two weeks, screaming at top speed that me and my office weren't doing anything about Lavinia or to try and stop her." Chase's eyes showed a hint of a saddened look.

"Were you?"

"Ma'am, if I had free reign over this place, I'd have called you in the second we began thinking our girl might be a serial killer. However, there's channels, and the president of the Institute is, as I said, not willing to open up to "hearing people"—despite the amount of time I spent in his office trying to convince him it was the best for the kids and the staff."

"What made him change his mind?" Hotch asked.

Chase fell silent a moment. "Let's just say that what I do here isn't my _only_ job, Agent Hotchner. And believe me when I say I wish I could elaborate on that."

The agents tipped their heads in acknowledgement. Emily began inspecting the sidewalk on which the victim had lain.

"See this?" she said, pointing to the relatively clean sidewalk. "Wherever Thomas Daniel was killed, it wasn't here. Looks like he was brought here afterwards."

"Okay," Chase agreed. "But then why drag him out here, to the middle of the courtyard? I mean, it's like Lavinia's trying to say something with him on the walk like that…"

Hotch walked into the soft grass. The courtyard was in the middle of four large stone buildings, in the shape of an almost a perfect giant square.

"If I were going to stage a protest, where would be a good place to do it?" he mused.

"Right here," Chase said, signing as she spoke. The agents watched as she unconsciously wiggled her flat open palms back and forth slightly.

"Sorry. Sign means 'here.'"

"Thanks."

"I can have them get a dictionary for you, if you like…"

"Anyway, protesting."

"Right," Chase said, clearing her throat. "Thomas Daniel all but started a protest, and I think he planned to have one here. It's all about what you see here—shouting over the rooftops doesn't work too well."

"Big enough place to stage a protest over what's happened," Emily concurred. "Or say a lot with just one well-placed corpse."

"Whoever she is--and I mean "she" only loosely--she obviously had something to say about Thomas Daniel."

"Has anyone contacted…"

"Oh, we're still looking." At the agents' surprise, Chase hastily explained, "A lot of times the kids here haven't seen their parents in years. Quite often they get 'dumped' in boarding schools or the like just so their parents—hearing, usually--don't have to deal with the stress of raising a deaf child. It's usually with more open-minded people or children of deaf families that we see other family members more often."

"Hmm," said Emily. "What a way to grow up…"

"It's not all bad, ma'am," Chase said. "I mean, I grew up the opposite. My parents were deaf, as was the man who raised me after they died. I was the anomaly in the family, but I never saw it as being a difference between "deaf" and "hearing"—more like I was one person who had to travel a lot between the two worlds. It's taught me a lot."

_Like me, _Emily thought.

* * *

In the president's office, things were not going well.

Reid and JJ had gone there to ask about the state of the campus in general—when there wasn't a vicious serial killer stalking the student body, in any case—and from the moment they walked in the door they felt like they were hit with a silent ambush. Though Chase and her partner Kyle had made a point of scheduling the appointment, the two agents were still waiting over an hour later.

"D'you feel like we're being told just to get the hell out?" JJ asked, keeping her voice low.

"I don't think they can hear you, JJ," Reid said, trying to make an attempt at humor while showing his own frustration. He had spent the better part of the trip to the campus studying an American Sign Language dictionary. While he had managed to memorize the book, Reid found that actually using the few signs he'd learned was a bit more complicated than he originally thought. He'd managed to screw up the sign for "doctor" by tapping an 'F' sign on the inside of his wrist instead of a 'D,' bringing a few scattered chuckles to the people in the security office. Kyle had managed to explain his mistake, and had also handed Reid a notebook and a pen.

"—Just in case,—" the scruffy blonde man said, his voice thick and fuzzy. His fingers moved quicker than he spoke. "—It's okay. I'm extremely hard-of-hearing, so I know my voice is bad. Why I sign a lot more than I talk.—"

Another ten minutes passed.

"This is ridiculous," said JJ, raising her voice from her polite low tone to nearly a scream. The tiny blonde strode over to the door and began pounding on it.

"Oh, that's gonna work," said Reid.

"There's his translator with him," JJ said. "I can hear her mumbling to herself in there."

Sure enough, it only took a few seconds for the door to open. "Can I help you?" the woman behind the door said, her tone clipped and short.

After making the obligatory introductions, JJ said, "We have an appointment to speak with President Graves."

"No one told me about it. I keep all of the president's appointments, and there was no notation."

"There was a call? Earlier this morning, about eleven o'clock?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the woman said, her tone still firm. "The president is tied up in meetings all day. Perhaps we can reschedule?"

JJ did so, trying to keep her professional decorum in check, and took a card with the time as proof of the appointment. Once the thick door closed shut, the two agents made their way out of the building.

"Why make the appointment today only to tell us we never made it?" JJ said, furious with the railroading they had just received.

"Chase and Kyle said that the guy didn't take to hearing people," Reid thought aloud. "I can't believe that he'd brush us off though, despite that—he's got to explain why seven people are dead on campus and he's turning help away? Doesn't make sense."

The two were just about to open the glass double doors to the outside when a figure ran towards them, waiving her hands. Had JJ not seen the reflection in the glass, she would have strolled right on out the door.

The young woman, breathless, tapped them both on the shoulder. –Are you the FBI people?—she asked, her hands flying. –Do you sign?—

JJ looked quizzically at her, not understanding, but Reid had caught the signs for "you," "sign" and the letters in "FBI." He nodded, showing he could understand. Then, hoping he didn't screw up the words, he twirled his pointer fingers in a lopsided circle in front of him and then placed his open flat hands near each other, leaving a little space between them. –Sign little.—

Nodding her head, the girl pulled out a notebook. On it she scribbled a note:

_Why didn't you talk to the president?_

Taking the pen from her hand, Reid replied:

_We were told we couldn't see him. Too busy._

The young woman scowled. _You mean that hussy told you,_ she wrote. _Ms. Simon's always 'losing' the appointments she doesn't think he should take. Trying to keep tabs on the place, you ask me._

_Why would she do that?_

_Because if you can't run the Institute, run the people who do. She's a nightmare. I know you had an appointment—my friend made it for you. She saw you walk out real quick and wondered why._

_What's your name? _ Reid asked, hoping maybe the trip wasn't wasted.

_Beth Carrier. What would you like to know?_


	4. Hate Mail

**Please see disclaimers in Chapter 1.**

* * *

Settling down at a nearby table, Reid and JJ began asking Beth about what she knew about the 'Lavinia' murders.

_Truth be told, a lot of people are glad you're here, _she wrote. Looking up at the agents quizzically, she pointed out the index and middle fingers on each of her hands and tapped them together in an 'X' that connected at the top finger joint. "Name?" she said in a low, thick fuzzy voice.

JJ looked at Reid. Reid looked at JJ. Both were trying to figure out what the young woman had said.

"Come on, that's got to be an easy one," JJ said.

Reid slowly shook his head, trying to tell Beth they couldn't understand. He did, however, remember the sign for "again"—a bent right hand that tapped into the open flat palm of the left. He made the sign, hoping she'd repeat her question.

Beth did so, taking the time to write her question after she signed.

"Oh, names," JJ said, finally understanding. She pointed to herself and held out her credentials. Reid did the same.

_Hello then,_ Beth wrote. _I heard about the murders from the beginning—Alicia Faulkner lived on my floor. We got on, but it was different circles, you know?_

The agents nodded.

_Anyway, there was a lot of crap going on because she decided to get a cochlear—_Beth made a curved "C" shape of her hand and wiggled it just behind her ear. _She got nasty looks from some people, even a few notes._

_Did anyone see those notes? _ JJ wrote, concerned.

_She showed them to a few of us. She was scared, but she wanted to go ahead with the surgery. She lost her hearing at about seven—German measles—and she wanted to be able to gain an advantage in the marketplace. Her major was marketing, and she wanted to be able to give the presentation, you know?_

_What about later? _ Reid wrote. _Did anyone take them afterward?_

_Yes. Chase Davis has them—it was one of the first things her office took. Everyone knows this is getting to them there—especially Miss Davis._

Reid decided to try and attempt a sign. He placed a flat hand parallel with his forehead, then pulled it up and away from his head, extending only the thumb and little finger. –-"Why?"—

_She looks after this place—and all of us here. Rumor has it she grew up here herself, though no one's ever been able to prove it. Wouldn't it bother you to know someone's being murdered in the place you grew up?_

Neither Reid nor JJ could really answer, but their faces said enough for the young woman to understand. _I thought so, _she wrote.

_Is Alicia's room still under wraps? _JJ wrote.

_Yes. I can take you there, if you like…_

_Lead the way, _the blonde woman wrote as she and Reid gathered up their things.

* * *

Morgan and Rossi were standing in the small apartment that had once been the home of David Lincoln and Abby Kensington. It looked pretty much like any other student apartment, with a few exceptions. As they entered the front door, both agents could hear a shrill alarm going off and all the lights in the house blinking.

"Jesus," Rossi cried out over the din. "Can't someone turn that off?!"

After a few minutes, they discovered the source—a bedside alarm clock. "So that's how they know when the alarm goes off," Rossi said, musing at the setup.

"Wait—didn't David Lincoln have one of those…ah, implant things?" Morgan asked.

Rossi flipped through the pages of a thin file. "Yeah. Says here that he'd had the procedure done just under a month ago, and he was still getting used to it."

"Okay, so I'm now hearing things for the first time in a long time, maybe ever," Morgan began, starting the role-play. "I've got everything in the place cranked up to the point the floor shakes."

"Maybe that's the girlfriend, Abby. Says here she was profoundly deaf, maybe the shakes were for her benefit. A way to still connect to the sounds David was experiencing?"

"Okay. I'll buy that," said Morgan, still walking around as if he were a twenty-year old college student who was hearing for the first time. "So I've got everything loud as can be, which isn't a problem since most of my neighbors can't hear. I'm going about things like normal—going to class, spending time with the girlfriend…"

"Maybe more than girlfriend," said Rossi, unearthing a small black box. Inside was a small diamond set on a silver band. "I think he was planning to propose to this girl, or in any case move the relationship up further than it was."

"You thinking jealousy? Someone kills these two, then cuts off their hands and tongue to say something about that?"

"I dunno," Rossi said. "Seems a little extreme, even for someone trying to prove that kind of point, don't you think?"

The agents began sifting through stacks of paper—notices for events on campus, utility bills, letters from the college brass, term papers.

"It's like their whole life is sitting here, buried in all this paper," Morgan declared.

"Potential fire hazard."

"Now, this is interesting," the younger agent said, holding up a piece of paper. "Take a look at this."

Both Morgan and Rossi studied the find very carefully. It was a typewritten letter that contained only a very short message—

_THOSE WHO DESTROY THEIR CULTURE SHOULD BE SHOT_

"Whoa," said Morgan.

"Here's another one—same sentiment. Seems a lot of people David knew didn't like the idea of him getting a cochlear implant." Rossi wiggled another piece of paper in his hand.

"Yeah, but really, 'destroying their culture'? Isn't that a little much?"

"How would you feel if one of your sisters decided to lighten their skin, or change their habits to be more like someone from another background or mindset?"

"I'd wonder what got into her head," Morgan said. "I mean, Mom's white, and she never told us there was a big difference one way or the other when it came to that kind of thing. We learned to be a lot more tolerant than some of our neighbors, I gotta say."

"Well, I'd say you were a lot more accepting than some of these folks," Rossi replied, waving a handful of hate letters.

"I wonder just how many there are, and if that other girl who got one of those things got this kind of mail too," Morgan mused as the agents continued their appraisal of the apartment.

* * *

Beth Carrier pointed towards the top drawer of a large bureau.

_That's where Alicia kept the notes,_ she wrote. _If you'll excuse me, I have to get to class. Here's my card._

The young woman handed JJ a card with her name and number on it.

--"Just in case"—she said as she waved her good-byes.

Reid and JJ began scanning the room. It was obvious the place had been thoroughly combed, but there was still a chance of a clue left in the place that might lead the profilers in the right direction.

"Chase usually does a thorough job if she's clearing a scene herself," JJ mused. "And I'd guess she's taught the people she works with how to do the same…"

"How do you know her, anyway? Keeps to herself a lot, and she's quieter than most we come across."

JJ smiled. "She and I have had a few run-ins, mainly because she's got a job that tends to clash with mine. She was working on something a couple years ago that we blew wide open, and we "met.""

"No specifics?"

"You've got better chance getting free oil out of the Asian desert than getting her to give up her secrets. And I know all of you are gonna try to profile her, and I'm telling you—don't try. If there was ever anyone who could throw all of us off on that point, it's Chase."

"And we're trusting her…why, exactly?" Reid asked as he poked through the closet, finding little else than a few odd clothes and a small file box on a high shelf.

"Because she's also led us to some of our cases. I get the feeling she's intelligence of some type, but she prefers working piecemeal rather than for anyone directly. I do know she's got a lot of contacts, and she's set up a few people with help more than once."

"Hmm," Reid said, his attention on the file box. "What does an eighteen year-old girl have hidden in a file box in the closet?"

"Dunno…" JJ said as Reid lifted the box from its perch and brought it out. "Could be something that was overlooked...or something Chase's people didn't find important at the time."

Reid lifted the box lid and peered inside.

"Huh," both agents said in surprise.


	5. Chicken, Chocolate and Coffee

**Please see disclaimers in Chapter 1.**

* * *

"It's a copy of Shakespeare's _Titus Andronicus,_" said Reid, passing off the book to his colleagues back in the security office. Chase Davis was acting as the translator, and it was fascinating to the young agent how her hands could keep up.

"What's so important about that?" asked Morgan.

"In the play, Titus's daughter, Lavinia, is raped by enemies of her father. As a way of making sure she couldn't identify them, her rapists cut off her hands and her tongue."

"The tongue's obvious—she can't talk, but the hands…?"

"So she couldn't point them out in a crowd," Emily mused.

"Exactly. From the looks of things, Alicia liked the book, even though it's a lesser known work, and there's some notes in the margins. Most of them deal with the concept of being part of a world that won't let you communicate on some level."

"And in this world, it makes sense," Chase added. "Only it's the hands that are more important. I cut out your tongue, you can still tell me everything through your hands with sign."

--Best way to silence a silent culture…remove the speech medium,-- Kyle signed as he leaned back in his desk chair.

Suddenly a welcome face cropped up on the giant projection screen behind them. Chase tapped Kyle's shoulder, who then turned around and waved.

"Hey yourself, handsome," said Garcia, using an IM-type scroll at the bottom of the screen to show what she was saying. "I looked into all of those files you sent over, and then into a few you didn't, and what I found is that there is really no common link other than the school to all of these people."

"Baby girl, you're serious?" Morgan's surprised was apparent to everyone.

"'Fraid so," she replied. "Alicia Faulkner and David Lincoln were the only ones with cochlear implants; Thomas Daniel was quite the outspoken activist for deaf rights, as well as totally deaf; Abby Kensington was training to go into the theatre for the deaf; and three of the other four were just your average college students."

"You said three, Garcia?" Rossi asked. "What about the fourth?"

"That's the interesting point. Charlie Windsor, victim number five, was actually a hearing person."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Seems he was interested in learning about the deaf and was doing an internship here."

"I checked that out," Chase said. "Comes from a hearing family, but he had this interest in the culture and the language. He was well spoken and he got along with most around here, far as I could tell."

--Anything else?—Kyle typed in after he signed.

"So we've got an assortment of people who are murdered, with no obvious connection except that they all have this place in common…" Hotch mused.

--What if we look at each one individually, instead of as a whole?—Kyle asked. –Miss Garcia, can you look further into each one? Try looking for the odd thing that crops up in each case. It's no coincidence each one was killed in the same fashion…--

"No kidding. I'll dig further, fret not, but I'm not sure what we're looking for here…"

--I'll help.-- Turning to Chase, he signed something that she didn't bother to translate.

--Okay,--she signed, and then said, "I can't speak for all of you, but I know when to stop for dinner. Nothing more we can do for these kids, and I can be reached." Picking up her coat off of her chair, she said, "Best table in the house is ours, if you'll follow me…"

* * *

It was a hole in the wall. At least, that's the impression Reid got when he stepped inside the tiny establishment. It looked like it could barely fit ten people in the entire place.

"Exactly where are we supposed to sit?" he whispered to Emily, who was busy looking at all the lights in the place. There was a flashing blue light that had gone off as the team had walked in, flashing once for each person that came through the door. As they made their way towards a long counter, Chase smacked her hand onto another button that set off a flashing red light. A short bearded man came running out of the back and smiled at them.

--Nice to see you, Chase,--he signed.

--Back room open, or are you running a euchre game in there?—she smiled, tapping two "E" shaped hands together.

The man shook his head, smiling. --No good partners. I expect these are the government people?—

--Yes. Be nice.— A half smirk crossed the woman's face.

Waving at the rest of the team, the man motioned them to follow as he kicked open a door built inside one of the walls. Inside was a room about twelve feet by twenty, and held a large round table that could seat at least ten people. After everyone was settled, the man looked at Chase. Reid noticed the man's hand tipping an imaginary glass to his lips.

"Ah, drinks," she said. Then, interestingly enough, she began pointing at each team member and making a different sign. When she reached Reid, she stacked two clenched fists on top of each other, then moved the top one in a circular motion—a sign Reid recognized from the dictionary as being the one for coffee. She then took and pointed at herself, ran a curved hand across the back of her left hand, tipped the curled hand to mimic a cup, then pointed back at Reid.

"What was that?" Emily asked, having watched the conversation with interest.

"What?"

"What you just told him," she replied.

"He wanted to know the drink order. If you'll forgive me, I took the liberty. I hope I was right…"

Seconds later, the man reappeared. Surprisingly, there were three iced teas—one with lemon, one with sugar, and one straight for Emily, JJ and Morgan respectively. There were also two small coffee cups, one large coffee cup with whipped cream in it and what Emily could only describe as a giant ceramic coffee pot with a huge handle. It was this that was set in front of Reid, whose eyes grew larger than the serving platter in the man's hand.

Chase then made another couple quick signs, then said "Thanks." The man left, a smile on his face.

"That has got to be the largest coffee cup I've ever seen," said JJ. Everyone laughed.

Reid inhaled the aroma of the coffee inside, and then took the giant container in both hands and had a sip. "It's perfect," he declared.

"There must be enough sugar in that to keep you wired for days," joked Morgan.

"Shut up," said Reid, still clutching the giant cup. He then asked Chase, "What's this mean?" He repeated the motion of the curved hand sliding across the back of his left hand.

"Chocolate," she replied. Turning to the rest, she explained, "I had a pretty good idea on what you all took, so I went with that. Though I'm gonna have to really wash out that cup now—it's my usual chocolate cup, and now it's got coffee all inside of it." She made a face.

"You have a special cup?" JJ asked, intrigued.

"I've been coming here since I was old enough to walk," Chase said. "The guy serving us is one of the owners of the place, Joseph Stackhouse. He and his brother have been here since time began, it seems like, and it's the second best place to get two things—food and information."

"Aha."

The man—Joseph—came back, his pad already in hand. Chase signed as she spoke.

"—What's the special?--"

Joseph took his right hand and wriggled it in a straight line across his front. He smiled, pointing to himself and then grabbing out for something no one could see.

"Fish," Chase translated. "Caught it himself. They do make a good…" she said, trailing off as she looked at the stricken look on five faces and the greenish tinge on the man sitting next to her.

--Uh, no fish,--she signed. She then took her index and middle finger and scratched at her left palm. "—Chicken?--"


	6. The Cure for Insomnia

**Please see disclaimers in Chapter 1.**

* * *

Morgan turned in the tiny bed. He couldn't sleep.

Or rather, his completely wired and over-caffeinated roommate couldn't sleep, and was mumbling strange things as he read through at least six more American Sign Language dictionaries. Though Reid had tried to be considerate and was at least sitting in the suite's bathroom, the light in the tiny space creeped through the cracks in the door, and a few rays kept hitting the older man's eyes.

"Reid, give it a rest!" he finally called out, not caring if the neighbors heard—which, Morgan mused, they probably couldn't. "Man, I _told _you not to down three cups of coffee at dinner—or did you forget the size of that trough you had filled with cream and sugar?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," came a slightly apologetic voice.

Shaking his head, Morgan finally tossed back the covers and tapped on the bathroom door. "You dressed?"

"Of course."

Trying to hide a smile, Morgan pushed the door open. There, in the tiny bathtub, was Reid—legs folded, book perched on his lap.

"This one's got some of the less common signs in it," he replied happily, not realizing that his colleague was trying to get a little much-needed shut-eye. "I was hoping to find out what Chase said to that guy before we left."

"You mean other than, 'thanks, here's the bill, and keep the money this time?'"

"Yeah. Strange how he wouldn't let her pay. She said something to him, and I wanted to know what." Reid tapped two closed "E" shapes in front of him, the same as she had. "I still can't figure out what this one means."

"Man, go back to bed. Ask her in the morning."

"In a minute…"

"That's it. I can't take it. If you're gonna stay up, at least go for a walk or something. There's hall space and the outdoors to wander, and you're armed. Plus, you've got the advantage of hearing someone walking behind you." Morgan lifted Reid out of the empty bathtub and shoved him out the door. "Trust me, this'll be good—for both of us."

With that, the door to the suite clicked shut, and the deadbolt was thrown into place.

_Terrific, _Reid thought. He looked down at his clothes, still looking rather worn and wrinkled from the day before. _I'm wide awake, I'm a mess, and now I've just been thrown out of my own room. What now?_

Slowly he began walking down the wide corridor. Chase and Kyle had managed to get three large rooms on the campus grounds for the team to stay in, and as he passed each room he could hear the sounds of his teammates sleeping.

_Good thing they put Hotch and Rossi on the end,_ he thought to himself, a smile crossing his lips. _I'm not so sure that even profound deafness could stop them from being heard at night…_

Sure enough, as he passed the corner room he could hear the sound of what could only be described as competing chainsaws trying to level Yosemite National Forest. Reid felt a little sorry for JJ and Emily, who had to room next door to that racket.

"Oh, we've got our secrets," Emily had said once the room keys had been doled out, and JJ secretly pulled out two small pairs of earplugs.

"Guaranteed to block out a hurricane," she said. It took a lot of restraint for the younger agents to not laugh as Hotch and Rossi passed them on the way to their room.

Reid made his way down the stairs and into the open courtyard. Though it was early fall, the temperature was still warm, and the full moon was out, casting a bright silvery light over everything in sight.

He thought a lot about how much he hated the dark, but there was something comforting about the light of a bright full moon. It didn't help matters any that five of the seven murders that 'Lavinia' had committed had been at night.

_Okay, not my best idea coming out here, but really, where else am I going to go? _he thought. The last time he tried slipping into the girls' room he found himself on the wrong end of a service pistol and a spike heeled shoe, and there was absolutely no way he was waking 'Paul Bunyan and Son' up from their slumber. Resigning himself to a sleepless night, he decided to have a look at a large ornamental fountain standing in the middle of the courtyard. It was in the shape of several geese, wings outstretched as they were caught in a mid-flight pose.

"Can't sleep, huh?" a voice asked from behind him. It was enough to startle Reid, his hands reaching for his sidearm.

"Whoa, there," said Chase, holding her own hands up in a show of submission. "Sorry I scared you."

"No, it's all right. Just a little nervous, I guess."

"Yeah. Doesn't help that a lot of our girl's murders were at night. I've been taking to walking around twice a night, as well as the people on third shift in my office." Chase looked out at the fountain, watching the water spray up nearly two feet in the air and then fall as drops into the recessed pool below. "I, uh, don't sleep much."

"Me neither."

"I gathered. Now, whether that's because of the six gallons of coffee from earlier or from 'something else,' that much I don't know," she said, a knowing smile crossing her face as she put 'air quotes' over the 'something else.'

_Does she know? If she does, she's doing a damn good job of not saying anything about it…_

"It's just the coffee."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Ah, there was something I did want to ask," Reid said, remembering his question. "Earlier, at dinner, why wouldn't that man let you pay him?"

If it hadn't been so dark, Reid could have sworn the young woman was blushing a little.

"There's a lot of reasons, one of which is that I practically grew up in that restaurant. To Joseph, it's like charging his kid—of which he has three, and they don't pay either. On top of that, there is the fact that I cleaned him out in the last euchre game, ad I told him he could pay me in kind. Like as not, he thought this was a great opportunity to return the favor."

"Euchre…" Reid said, rolling the unfamiliar word around his tongue.

"Yeah. Card game." The two young agents continued Chase's patrol of the grounds as they talked. "Pretty popular around here. There's always a game or two going, and everyone overlooks it. Officially, there's no gambling on campus, but as far as my office is concerned kids can run a euchre game as long as all debts are paid before the end of the night. I don't allow people to run a tab, and the last guy trying to loan shark…well, let's just say they haven't seen him since."

Reid wasn't sure he liked the sound of that, but as he was certain Chase knew a lot more about him than she let on, he let it slide. "That was the other thing," he said. Making the sign he'd demonstrated in the bathtub earlier, he asked, "what's this mean?"

"Euchre."

"Oh."

"You any good with cards, Dr. Reid?"

A mischievous smile crossed the tall man's face. "Yes."

"Well then…

--

An hour later Reid found himself back at the same establishment that he'd eaten dinner at, only this time the back rooms were all wide open. People sat in groups of four around small square tables, busy making odd signs and studying the cards in their hands.

Chase walked up to a young man who was acting as the doorman. She quickly held up two fingers—the sign for 'two'—and then flicked her hands a couple of times. The young man nodded, and the two were led to a small room hidden behind a wall. It was much like the one Reid had eaten in, except this time there were two people sitting inside. One face was instantly recognizable as the man who'd served them earlier that night.

"--Hello Joseph, Cameron,--" Chase said, moving her hands as she spoke. "Got room for two more, one a newbie?--"

Two enthusiastic heads nodded and motioned them to sit down. Chase sat across from Reid, and the brothers sat across from each other.

"So, you've never played euchre?"

"No."

Chase smiled. She explained the basic setup of the game to him: that there were only face cards, aces and nines and tens in a "euchre deck," that the object was to score ten points by taking a certain number of 'tricks,' that the jacks were called "bowers" and were the highest and second-highest cards in the deck, according to trump, and that players determined trump by flipping a card up in the left over card pile and going around the table determining if a player and their partner could take at least three 'tricks' in a hand.

"It's easy. Oh, and these two play 'farmer's hand" and "screw the dealer."

Reid looked a the young woman, his face a mirror of confusion.

"'Farmer's hand' means you have at least three nines or tens out of the five cards in your hand. That hand's not going to win much, so you can call a 'farmer's hand' and trade it for the cards in the left over pile. 'Screw the dealer' means that if everyone turns down the trump that was flipped up—say, a diamond—and then everyone at the table passes on calling a different trump, the dealer _has_ to pick."

"Then why is it…"

"Because if you don't get three tricks, the other team gets a point. You're basically hoping you take your tricks on what little you have in your hand. Why do you think Joseph there owes me 80 dollars?" Chase tossed a mischievous grin at Joseph, who playfully narrowed his eyes.

The next three hours flew by. Reid had learned a plethora of signs—signs for the suits on the cards, the sign for "pass," the sign for "more" (which was handy when he kept asking for water), and many others.

The more Reid 'talked' with Joseph and Cameron, the more he learned about the pair of brothers. How they loved to fish and hunt, and that they often served up their catches to their customers. How they managed to operate a restaurant despite Joseph being extremely hard-of-hearing and Cameron completely deaf. How they had watched Chase grow up from a precocious child to a girl who could handle a lot that life dealt her, what with her parents's early deaths and the passing five years ago of her godfather, who had raised her from the time she was twelve.

"—Oh, stop,--" Chase said at that, smiling. "—No one wants to hear about me.--"

A while later a blue light flashed, and the cards were put away.

"—Two A.M.—" Joseph said, his voice garbled and scratchy. "—Closing time.—"

All the debts were settled, and this time Reid was definitely not the winner, as he usually was when he played cards on the plane. He had lost nearly 100 dollars to the brothers, who were all too happy to set the money aside.

--Might need to use this to buy some euchre books,-- Cameron said.

The smaller tables were cleared out, and the agents waved their good-byes as the door was locked up tight for the night.

--You two go to sleep,-- Cameron said. –Need you on top of things to catch that lunatic.-- Reid took note of the twirling finger near the man's head.

"You tired yet?" Chase asked.

"Not really. But I'm getting there."

"Jesus. You're worse than Kyle when he sets into a case of Mountain Dew. Can't ever get him to sleep—or away from that computer of his."

A warm breeze blew across the Institute campus, slowly trying to lull the two insomniacs into dreamland.

Once they reached the fountain, Chase turned to her euchre partner. "Well, here's my stop," she said. "You going to be all right getting back…?"

Her voice trailed as she saw a figure racing wildly towards them, waving its hands in the air like semaphore flags.

--Come quick!-- the girl said, her fingers flying. Reid recognized her as Beth Carrier, the girl he and JJ had spoken to earlier that day. –Miss Davis, Dr. Reid, come quick…he's dead, he's dead!--


	7. Mistakes

**Please see disclaimers in Chapter 1.**

* * *

"—Who's dead, Beth?--" Chase asked, concern spreading over her face.

--Paul,-- she signed. –Paul Spoke. We were…-- Beth's fingers fumbled as the three ran across the courtyard near the living center entrances. A small crowd was milling about, some keeping people away form the fallen young man and others trying to calm the rest of the crowd down.

"Better call your people," Chase said as she began scanning the scene. As Reid began hitting his speed dial, he noticed that the woman wasn't looking at the fresh corpse or trying to ascertain what had happened—she was carefully studying the faces in the crowd.

"Right, Morgan. I know it's late, but there's been another murder… Yes, wake them and come over to--" Reid scanned the entrance for an address. "222, apartment 6. Uh, yeah. Okay."

"They're on their way," he informed Chase as she began milling about silently. A tip of her head confirmed she was listening. Her eyes, however, were miles away.

"See that?" she asked, pointing towards a trio of students that seemed a bit set off to the side of the crowd.

"What?"

"Notice how those three seem interested but not surprised?" Chase commented, casually strolling over. "Go over and examine the scene, but keep an eye on them. I want another look from a different angle."

It was hard to see the remains of this young man—unlike some of the various stages an unsub left their victim in, this young man had only been a part of the living mere moments before, and then fell victim to a sadist who seemed to take great pleasure in showing off what 'she' had done.

Reid backed away a step and knocked into someone. It was Beth. Even in the pale moonlight it was easy to see the young woman had been crying and that she was distraught. Pulling out a pad of paper—he didn't trust his fledgling sign language skills quite yet—he began to question her about Paul. After a few moments, he looked up in search of Chase, but she was nowhere to be found. It was as if she had vanished.

Turning his focus on Beth, he wrote: _Were you with him tonight?_

_Yes. We dated, kinda serious. I was leaving to go back to my dorm when I remembered I left my things at his place. When I came back, I found him like this…_

Reid thought a moment about the randomness of 'Lavinia's' victims. _Was Paul thinking about getting a cochlear implant?_ he scribbled hastily.

_He wanted one, but he wasn't a good candidate. Born completely deaf._

_Were there any big changes that came up in his life over the last couple of months? _

Beth thought a moment. _Not that I know of, but then Paul could keep a secret better than a vault. He kept a diary though, on his computer._

Reid made a mental note to have Garcia comb the computer in the morning.

_Why is Lavinia doing this? _Beth scribbled. _What purpose is there, killing all these people?_

Suddenly a voice called out through the crowd. "Hey, what's going on? Where's my brother?"

Reid spun around to say something and found himself face-to-face with a young man. If Reid didn't know better, he'd have sworn that the victim had grown back hands and started breathing again.

"You a cop?" the voice challenged.

Reid handed over his credentials. "Who are you?"

"Ren Spoke. Paul's brother. Where is he? I was supposed to be here earlier but I got caught in traffic. What's going on?"

The young man's eyes fell on the body lying in the nearby grass. "No…"

Luckily, his colleagues came before Reid had to handle interrogation and damage control. Stepping back and letting both the security officers and the rest of the team handle things, Reid's mind suddenly went back to Chase, who was still nowhere to be found.

"Over here," a familiar voice called out. Reid blinked and suddenly there she was, standing by a nearby tree with two of the three young men she'd been curious about.

* * *

_Damn it—that was close. Too close._

_It was supposed to be the other one. Ren. Who the hell does he think he is, trying to convince his apparently capable and intelligent brother that he needs some stupid mechanical device to be happy? To hear? The eyes and the language are all we really need…would wind be any better if it cold be seen?_

_Miss Davis was there fast. They say she's a spook, some sort of paid catch-all for 'certain people' who like how she handles things. They say she always finds the people she's looking for. __**Always.**__ The fact she had to call in 'help' from those government people just proves she's not that good…_

_Damn--she nearly caught me. Just good luck, I suppose, that I slipped out when I did. My friends are talking to her and that tall guy now—the one who's trying to talk like us. At least Miss Davis is 'one of us,' even though she can hear. _

_These two might be more of a challenge. In any case, I can't let them stop my work. Because they all have to learn to leave us alone. To stop looking at us like we're some odd curiosity. _

_To stop trying to make us something we're not._


	8. Coming Together

**Hello there. Just a quick one in the midst of my run on "Kite Country." Hope you enjoy.**

**See Disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

"If there was anything Paul Spoke was hiding, he's certainly not telling us," quipped Garcia over the computer early the next morning. Speaking as rapidly as she typed into the text box, she continued, "He's got a couple of notes on buying a ring for some girl named Beth…"

"Beth Carrier, his girlfriend," chimed Reid. "She said that the relationship was pretty serious."

"Wait a minute," said Morgan, going over the evidence from the Lincoln/Kensington apartment. "David Lincoln had a ring, too—looked as if he wanted to propose to his girlfriend, or go further in any case."

"So what does it mean?" Rossi mused, staring at the faces that were multiplying on the large bulletin board in front of the group. "We've got two young men looking to propose, two cochlear implant recipients, a hearing person who wanted to work in the deaf community, an activist for the deaf community, and a couple of seemingly random students."

--Either our girl's all over the map on purpose, or this is one girl in serious need of massive therapy,-- Kyle signed, typing for Garcia's benefit.

"Garcia, can you cross-reference each of the victims with each other, see if there's any overlap that we're missing?" Hotch asked the veritable genie behind the screen.

"Sure. Back later," the woman replied, signing off.

Chase drummed her fingers on the tabletop, an obvious sign of frustration. "Eight kids," she mumbled. Suddenly her hands began flying so fast even Kyle had trouble keeping up with her.

"—I don't know what she's saying; her hands are moving too fast,--" he said, his voice thick and scratchy.

"—Venting,--" the woman replied finally, her tirade finished. "—Unprofessional, I know, but this one's really getting to me.—"

"Did you find anything last night?" Hotch asked, looking at the board. After he was greeted with silence a few moments later, he turned and repeated his question again, tapping Kyle on the shoulder. Chase signed the words, a sheepish look on her face.

"If you want to talk to me, you have to look at me," Kyle said, not bothering to sign. "How else am I going to know you're talking?"

"Sorry. Force of habit." Hotch sincerely looked apologetic.

"It's okay." Looking at Chase, he began signing again. –There wasn't anything really out of the ordinary. Alicia Faulkner and David Lincoln had different surgeons perform their implant surgeries. They didn't have the same neighbors—Alicia lived on campus in the dorms while David lived with Abby in a student apartment across campus. Charlie Windsor took some basic sign classes as a refresher and got a lot of help from a tutor, though he was fairly conversant. Two of the other victims shared a class together—a speech class, I think it was…--

"You still require speech?" JJ asked, surprised.

--It's called public speaking here, but yeah, we do,--Kyle replied.

"Wait a minute…" Reid said, rummaging through his messenger bag. "Beth Carrier said that Alicia wanted the cochlear implant because she wanted to…hang on, here it is…'give the speech herself.' I'm assuming she wanted to be able to speak clearly in public—her major was marketing--"

"Which requires being able to be effective and clear in communication," JJ finished. When her colleagues turned to look at her, she merely replied: "How do you think I got my job, guys?"

"What was David Lincoln's major?" Rossi asked.

Kyle hit a few keys on his computer keyboard.

"Political science, pre-law," Chase read from the monitor. "Speaking again, though he could have easily employed a translator if he wanted."

"And Paul Spoke?"

More key tapping.

"Looks like he was an English major," Chase said. "Creative writing."

"Involves lecture, though, doesn't it?" Morgan asked.

"A little, why?"

"Three people interested in cochlear implants, and they all study for careers that require speaking on some level—if you consider Paul Spoke might have been interested in teaching."

"But all those positions can be modified for the hearing impaired…" Chase began, when suddenly a look of inspiration washed over her face.

"That's it," she said finally.


	9. Engagement Rings and Militants

**Please see disclaimers in CH 1.**

* * *

The look on Chase's face said it all.

"--You're right,--" Kyle said, his hands moving excitedly. Turning to his computer, he set up a series of photographs on the large projection screen behind him—the photographs of the victims, in order, along with the information they had gathered about them.

--What do you see?-- Kyle signed, looking at Reid. The sign for 'see' was unmistakable; two fingers in a 'V' shape pointing outward from the position of the eyes.

The five profilers studied the array closely.

"These three—Alicia, David, and Paul—all wanted to change themselves by 'becoming' a hearing person, in a manner of sorts," JJ said, stating the obvious.

"Abby Kensington was with David the night he was killed—could have been a 'wrong place, wrong time' scenario," Morgan mused.

"Or—what if Lavinia was saying something with her too?" Chase countered. "Something we've been missing?" It was clear that she'd already figured it out, and was now waiting for everyone else to catch up.

--The ring,-- Kyle said, pointing at an imaginary setting on his ring finger.

--Exactly.— For the rest of the group, she translated. "—David Lincoln had gotten an implant. Abby, for whatever reason, didn't. Yet it doesn't look like they were going to break it off anytime soon.--"

"No," said Rossi. "We found a ring—maybe an engagement ring, maybe something else—but it wasn't cheap, I can tell you that. Probably worth about a quarter of my first wife's engagement ring."

"No guy who's looking to ditch his girlfriend buys a ring like that," Emily chimed in. "And Paul Spoke had bought a ring too, or was going to."

"Probably as a surprise to Beth Carrier," JJ said.

"She didn't seem to know anything about it," Reid added. "But what's bothering me is Paul's brother, Ren…"

"How so?" Rossi queried.

"I mean, did you see the guy? It was like he and Paul could have been twins—there's a slight age difference, but the resemblance was unreal…"

"I think we need a talk with Ren Spoke," Chase said, starting for the door. She signed something to Kyle, who once again began tapping on his keyboard and connecting with the BAU's resident genius-of-all-knowledge.

* * *

"So Paul and I looked alike. 'Irish twins,' my mother used to call it," Ren said to Chase, Emily and Hotch an hour later. The young man was staying temporarily in Paul's apartment until he could return his brother's body for burial. "So what?"

"Did you know that Paul had looked into getting a cochlear implant?" Chase asked.

"Yeah—I'm the one who suggested it. Paul wanted to go into writing, but he liked the idea of being able to hear things—you know, everyday sounds—to better help him when he wrote his stories and such. I mean, sure, you don't have to hear to write, and I loved him even though he was deaf, but he believed that if he didn't know the sounds the hearing world would realize he couldn't hear, and it would make his work less authentic." Ren stared into the small table that held his half-empty coffee cup. "If only I'd been there…"

"When Paul found out he wasn't a good candidate, how'd he take it?" Hotch asked.

"He was a little depressed, but he got his mind on other things. He just put down a deposit on an engagement ring for his girlfriend…"

"Beth Carrier," Emily said.

"Yeah. You met her?"

"I know her," Chase said. "Nice girl—she's the one who told us about Paul."

"Beth was supportive when he tried for the implant, but I think in the end she was a little relieved when it didn't work out," Ren said.

"She's against cochlear implantation?" Chase asked.

"Not like those militant types out there, but a little," he replied. "More like 'unless you really need one, why bother?' kind of thing. He had a guy who lives around here, though, that went completely ballistic when he found out Paul was trying for one."

"Name?"

"Um…Brennan, I think. Jeremy Brennan. Lives a couple doors down from here…"

* * *

_They're talking to that traitor again. Stupid, stupid…I should have seen that it wasn't __**him **__I was silencing, but his brother…the only time I've made a mistake._

_Those hearing folks are catching on quick. Miss Davis is a lot smarter than I originally thought. Perhaps it's time to put a little kink in the works…_

* * *

Reid found Beth Carrier as she exited her Contemporary Literature class. He waved his hello, then tried to string the signs he'd worked so hard to practice together so as to avoid the furious note-taking. --Can I ask you some more questions?--, he signed, cutting his left palm in half ('some'), holding his hands in a prayer shape ('ask') and tracing a question mark in the air ('question').

Beth nodded. She motioned the young agent over towards a seat near the exit towards the courtyard. --How can I help?-- she asked, making sure she signed each word slowly. As a precaution, she also pulled out a small notebook.

Reid rolled the words in his mouth before continuing. --Did you know Paul was thinking of getting married?—he said, getting the words 'know' and 'think' mixed up.

Beth nodded again. --I knew he wanted to, and I'd have said yes instantly, but I didn't know when.—

--He B-O-U-G-H-T a ring last week,--Reid said. Then his phone went off. Holding it up, he made his excuses and looked at the display. It was a text message from Emily.

_Ask Beth about Paul's attempt at a cochlear implant. Seems she wasn't too warm to the idea. _

Turning the device over in his hand, Reid held up the phone's display so Beth could read it. He tipped his head in a quizzical look.

Beth took up her pen. _I wasn't real happy, no, _she wrote,_ but he really wanted one. Am I glad he wasn't a good candidate? Yes. But would I kill him to stop him from having one? It was __**his**__ choice. _

_Why didn't you want him to get one?_

_Because, really, he didn't __**need **__one. He wanted to go into writing, and maybe a little college teaching—nothing he absolutely needed one for. If he'd been going into something where you needed to talk all the time, or had to have all your senses sharp, like police work, then I'd be all for it._

_Beth, eight people are dead because they have a serious problem with the hearing community,_ Reid wrote. _Tell me if this description fits anyone you know—_

Reid then gave a full profile of "Lavinia"—hostile towards the hearing community, militantly against cochlear implants, causing trouble for those who have something to do with speaking or positions that require some semblance of sound reception, hates 'mixed' relationships between hearing and deaf…

_Yes. I know someone like that, _Beth wrote excitedly, her eyes wide. _He lives just two doors down from Paul…_

* * *

_There she is. And there __**he **__is…_

_Only a matter of time now, and the hearing people will have to listen—finally __**listen**__—to what I have to say…_


	10. Without Warning

**Please see disclaimers in CH 1.**

* * *

Jeremy Brennan actually lived three doors down from Paul, and the walk over wasn't long, but it gave both Hotch and Chase enough time to contact their technical wizards to pull everything they could about the young man.

"Jeremy Brennan, age 23, born profoundly deaf to Anne and Robert Brennan…"

"The philanthropist Brennans?" Emily asked, listening in on speaker.

"One and the same. You know them?"

"My mother does, through work—they do quite a bit of charity work overseas. Anyway, I thought they only had two kids…"

"Jeremy's the last of three sons, the only one in the family to be deaf. Was enrolled at the Berkshire School when he was the tender age of two, and judging from the records his parents and brothers haven't seen or spoken to him since, save every Christmas."

"Yeah, makes sense," Emily concurred. "The Brennans always have this big Christmas party—actually held on the 23rd every year—and they always made a point of showing off the kids. I never saw this Jeremy, though…"

"His flights were always the 23rd, late—looks like he tried once to change in the ticket for an earlier flight, and that didn't go over well…some sort of disturbance at the gate when the party was going on. The guard filed a police report, but the Brennans had the charge dropped."

"Plus, you're about, eh, fifteen years older than Jeremy would be," Chase mused. "No offense."

"None taken."

Suddenly Chase's phone went off. A flurry of reading and buttons being pushed consumed the woman for the next couple of minutes.

"Oh, for the love of God…"

"What?" Hotch's ears were now completely tuned in to what she was saying.

"Seems our boy Brennan was quite the busy bee," she remarked. "Kyle says that since he's been on campus, he's been cited numerous times for disturbing the peace—wild demonstrations about cochlears or hearing people in general; he's pretty outspoken about mixed relationships, and had gotten into a couple of serious fights over the issue."

"What could have turned him against the hearing community?" Emily asked. "I mean, his family doesn't sound like poster children for acceptance, but…"

"The family could be the thing that started it," Hotch realized. "If I'm this young man, and my family's all but shunned me because I'm not 'perfect,' one way to find solace is to embrace what you are and shun what you aren't."

"He's right," Chase concurred. "That's how we get a lot of our 'militant' types in this community—somehow or another the hearing community has shut them off, so they swing the other way hard."

"But _killing_ people who are more open minded?"

"It's really no different that some religious nut who decides to blow something up to prove a point," Chase countered.

The three hurried to the door of Jeremy's apartment, hoping to catch the young man in time. Once on the front patio, Hotch tapped on the door and called out, only to stop himself in mid-shout.

"Where's the doorbell?" he asked. Chase pointed it out.

Leaning against the door, Hotch reached for the doorbell button. As he leaned in, the front door swung gently open. It took only a few minutes for the three seasoned investigators to clear the premises.

"Look here," Emily said. On a table were hundreds of flyers railing against cochlear implantation, dozens of photographs of various students, and a computer that had several cameras set up.

"I'm calling Kyle over here," Chase said. "No offense to Miss Garcia, but I need this thing gone through _yesterday._"

"My question is, if he's not here, where the hell _is_ he?" Hotch wondered aloud.

* * *

A silent figure watched as Beth and Reid exited the building. The sun was setting, and the deep colors and cast of the sinking light made if difficult to focus on anything in particular. The figure watched as Beth parted company from her surprising escort and made her way towards the dorms.

Reid stood back, looking at the sunset for a moment. Eidetic memory or not, he still needed to remember where the security office was—he wanted to ask Garcia about this Brennan character that Beth had tipped him about.

Without warning, the silent figure crept out of his hiding place and delivered a powerful strike to the back of the agent's head. Reid fell to the ground unconscious, a sack of potatoes that someone had carelessly dropped.

_Let's see them ignore me __**now**__, _the figure thought. Looking at Reid's motionless figure, he smiled to himself. _I've got big plans for you…_


	11. On the Edge of Nowhere

**Please see disclaimers in CH 1.**

* * *

The shock of ice-cold water splashing over his face was enough to startle Reid back from consciousness. He gasped for breath, coughing violently as he tried to draw air into his lungs.

A soft tapping of footsteps sounded around the space where his head lay. Picking up his hands, the young agent tried to wipe the stray water droplets from his eyes and get a better look at who had decided to try and drown him.

The shoes near Reid's face stopped moving when their owner noticed him slowly stirring to life. Dark blue eyes furrowed into a grotesque smile of smugness and satisfaction.

--You're up.—the young man signed.

"Wh-what?" said Reid, still trying to adjust to the dim light in the room. A soft clatter of something metallic greeted his ears as he tried to right himself from the floor into a sitting position.

The query was met with a vicious backhand. –No talking,-- the young man replied. –Not going to do you any good here.—

"I—I can't follow you…" Reid tried again, his waterlogged eyes still fuzzy from trying to orient themselves to this new situation.

Another backhand, this time across the face. Reid tried putting his hands up in an attempt to shield himself, but the action soon told him where the metallic sound had come from—two short lengths of chain that shackled him to the floor by his wrists. The chains allowed him to sit and lie down, but were too short to allow the tall agent to stand upright.

"What are…" he tried again, only to receive a swift punch in the stomach for the trouble.

--Keep talking. You'll only hurt more.—

Reid vaguely caught the signs, and the confusion in his mind began to clear. –Lavinia,-- he signed back, remembering the sign Chase Davis had shown the team in their office at Quantico.

A slow, wicked looking smile grew across his captor's face as he saw the sign. –Yes. Very good. You're learning.—

Panic began to rise in Reid's throat. _This guy isn't going to leave me alive,_ he thought, remembering the last eight victims. "What do…" he began, forgetting for a moment. When he realized the younger man's back was turned, he stopped.

_He can't hear me,_ Reid realized. The agent pondered on how to get the younger man's attention. He tried to remember how Chase had done it with the people in her office, and how the students on campus had done it as they'd observed. Mainly, they'd simply tapped the party they wanted to talk to on the shoulder, but Reid knew that his chained limbs couldn't possibly reach the man standing over something in the dark part of the room across from him.

Soon a flash of light emitted from the contraption across the room, blinding the young agent for a moment. There was a short _whirr _and _click_, and then silence. This action repeated itself a number of times, leaving Reid temporarily blinded by the bright light and causing him to see spots for a short time after every _click._

_Photographs,_ he thought. _But why is he taking pictures of me?_

The figure across the room took the film and stepped into a smaller room to the side. A red light emitted from the cracks of the door.

Reid tried to pick himself up off the floor, but the chains around his wrists stopped him quick. He could barely get his feet underneath him before he felt as though he would pull his arms out of their sockets. A cold feeling lingered along his ankles, and he looked down his legs to see that short lengths of chain had been attached to his ankles as well.

_Now why do that?_ he wondered. _I can't even pick myself up off of the floor—why would he bother to chain my legs?_

Gingerly, Reid moved his legs out as far as the chain would let them. He discovered that he could stick his legs out straight in front of him, but couldn't lift them very far off the ground while they were straight.

_He's keeping me from kicking out at him,_ he reasoned. _He's given me a range of motion but still restrained me—why? And for what purpose? His profile tells me he'll just lash out and kill me eventually, like he did his other victims…_

Suddenly the small door creaked off to the side, the red light no longer emitting from the cracks. The younger man strode over to Reid and held out a series of photographs--candid shots of Reid in his current predicament.

--Nice, eh?—the young man signed. –Not bad…you take a nice picture in any case…--

Reid shook his head in confusion. "I-I don't understand…"

His question was met with another vicious slap to the head. Instinctively, Reid covered his head with his hands. A pair of strong hands lifted the young agent's face by his chin and forced him to meet the cold gaze staring at him.

--If you speak one more word, you'll regret it,-- the young man warned, signing very slowly. Reid caught the signs for "speak" (an index finger drawn forward from the mouth), "word" (the thumb and index finger of the left hand connecting with the index finger of the right hand in a 'P' shape), and a sign he wasn't quite sure on but looked bad nonetheless.

Picking his hands up, Reid suddenly realized why his arms had been restrained in this fashion. –Why are you doing this?—he managed, piecing his signs together the best he could.

--There's no other way. You hearing people need to listen, and I'll start with those friends of yours and Miss Davis.-- Reid caught the signs for "need," "listen," "friends," and "yours." The last sign was one Reid remembered seeing before, but it took a minute to place it—he'd seen Kyle use the sign when he spoke to Chase.

--C-H-A-S-E D-A-V-I-S? What A-B-O-U-T her?—

--Too much fingerspelling,-- his captor signed, a nasty frown furrowing his face.

--I'm not very good at signing.—

--Learn. Fast.-- The younger man spun on his heel and began walking towards a door on the opposite side of the long, narrow room. Before his captor left, however, he turned back and drew just close enough so that Reid could see his hands in the dim light. Instead of signing, however, they reached for a slip of paper in a back pocket. The younger man gave Reid the slip of paper, then turned and strode out of the room, locking the door no less than five times.

Hoping someone could hear, Reid tried calling out for help. He called and screamed until his voice nearly gave out, pounding on the wooden floor as loud as he could. _Not everyone here is profoundly deaf,_ he reasoned. _Maybe someone can hear me…_

No one came.

Worn out, Reid suddenly remembered the slip of paper that 'Lavinia' had given him before he'd left. He opened up the folded message and strained to read it in the dim light.

_You can scream all you want,_ the note read. _No one will hear you. They tell me that complete soundproofing has a way of doing that—that, and being in a place on the edge of nowhere. If you were thinking of using your voice to save yourself, I've got some bad news for you. How does it feel, to be trapped in a world you're not really a part of?_

_Don't worry. I'll be back. Much more to do with you before I'm through…_

Reid dropped the note and scanned the whole of his dimly lit prison. There was nothing within reach he could use to free himself, and his phone had been taken away—likely to use as proof of his capture.

Then Reid remembered something JJ had mentioned to him earlier.

"_She does some intelligence work, I think, but piecemeal rather than work for anyone outright…"_

_I hope you're as good as JJ says you are, Chase, _he thought feverishly. _'Cause the team's going to need all the help they can get on this one…_


	12. Where's Reid?

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

"Where's Reid?"

It was becoming a question everyone asked lately. Not that his colleagues didn't trust the young man—they did—but with the kids of issues he'd been dealing with of late, it was a sort of an unspoken rule that someone always knew where he was, even if it was as simple as the next room or getting one of his endless refills of coffee.

"What, he's not here?" Hotch asked, looking at the remaining team members who'd stayed behind to recomb the evidence in the security office.

"Said something about going to talk to the Carrier girl," Rossi informed him, looking equally worried. "Kyle's sending a message now to her phone-thingie, asking her to come in."

Five pairs of eyes met as Emily and Chase walked in the door. "Where's Reid?" Emily asked, scanning the room for her colleague.

"Went to talk to the Carrier girl," Hotch informed her. "She's being called in for more questions."

"Oh." Emily's eyes flicked up towards Morgan, who shrugged. It had become a private pact between the two agents to never leave Reid alone when going out in the field—they knew all too well had, and could, happen when Reid was left to his own devices at times.

"Don't look at me," Morgan murmured into Emily's ear. "He left before anyone knew he was gone. Mentioned going to talk to the girl as he raced out the door, and the rest of us had evidence and paperwork to go through…"

"What'd you find in there?" Hotch said, pointing towards the mountain of evidence and printouts.

--If this guy Brennan is our girl Lavinia, he's got some serious issues,-- Kyle signed. –Apparently he tried petitioning the college to get out of the required public speaking courses, on the grounds that as a deaf person, he'd have no reason to…'use my voice in public' was how he described it.—

"How'd that work out for him?" asked Rossi dryly.

The sarcastic tone was lost on the technical investigator. –It didn't. He took the courses…in fact, he's taking the second of two this semester…--

"How many others are taking that course?" Emily asked, waving a hand up at the photographs of the victims. Chase's deft hands began translating for Kyle's benefit, adding a question of her own: --Who's teaching it this term?—

"—All of them,--" Kyle said, his thick voice just barely being able to be understood. His fingers then spelled out a name.

"Janowicz," Chase said. "–That's who's teaching this term?--"

"Who's he?" Emily asked.

"One of our better professors in public speaking," Chase clarified. "I've seen the man give lecture, and even if you're not deaf you can still understand him. If these kids had him, they were lucky."

"We need to talk to this guy," Hotch said, still troubled over his missing agent. "Maybe there's something he can tell us about these kids that we're missing…"

Suddenly the face of the BAU's technical analyst cropped up on the screen. "Did you tell them yet?" she asked, her eyes clearly focused on Kyle.

Kyle shook his head. _Busy with something else,_ he typed into the scroll at the bottom of the screen.

"Our victims had more in common than their choice of higher learning institution and a really creepy tie to Shakespearian literature," Garcia began, pulling several documents onto the screen. "Seems our friend Thomas Daniel, victim number seven? He might have been a champion for the rights of the hearing-impaired, but his love life told a completely different story."

"Baby girl, what's his love life got to do with anything?" Morgan asked, now clearly confused.

"Um, _besides_ the fact that every cute coed he dated was fully capable of hearing?"

"Really?" The ironic tone was thicker than a barrel of fresh butter.

"Yep. Also, victims two, three and four were looking to 'expand their horizons' in other ways—each of them was planning to speak at a major competition next month."

"Speak as in 'speak,', or speak as in 'sign'?" Morgan asked.

"The first one, stud muffin." A few smiles danced on faces at that remark. "All three were working on training their vocal abilities—they were all extremely hard-of-hearing—and they wanted to be able to compete in a national competition that had some serious prize money involved.

"How serious?" This time Hotch asked the question.

"As in enough to start a business. That's what the competition was about—business and marketing."

"How would these kids have learned about the competition?" JJ wondered aloud.

"Janowicz is good about informing his students about all forms of speaking competitions—for the hearing _and_ the deaf," Chase replied.

"So, we've got two cochlear implant recipients, one who was thinking about getting one, a budding actress, a deaf-rights activist who liked hearing ladies, a hearing man interested in working with the deaf and three potential competitors at a vocal speaking competition," Rossi summed up. "What's the connection, other than the speaking class?"

Eight pairs of eyes studied the countertops.

"We're nowhere," Chase said finally. The frustration that 'Lavinia' was stumping a seasoned intelligence woman such as herself was getting to the chief security officer. _How good can I be at the job if I can't even stop one crazed person from terrorizing these kids?_ she wondered.

A sharp tap at the door broke the team out of their thoughts. A petite woman with dark hair waved at them.

JJ waved her hello, and the young woman smiled. Looking at Chase, she began to sign. –You wanted to see me?—

--You're Beth?—

--Yes. I just spoke with Dr. Reid…--

Chase's sudden shift in her facial features was obvious.

"—You talked to Dr. Reid? When?--"

--Earlier this afternoon, around…four? It was when I got out of class,-- the woman replied.

Chase's right index finger waggled. –Where?—

--Keylon Building. We left together, and I parted company near the goose fountain…--

"He was in the courtyard this afternoon, near the fountain," Chase called over her shoulder as she grabbed her jacket and raced out the door. Not one to wait, Morgan followed close behind her.

Kyle picked up the interrogation. –What did you say to Dr. Reid?—

--He asked about Paul, and the surgery, and then asked me if I knew someone who might be against hearing people and culture. I said I did."

"—Who?--"

--J-E-R-E-M-Y B-R-E-N-N-A-N,--Beth signed. –Neighbor of Paul's, two or three doors down.—

"We were just there," Emily said. "He wasn't there…"

Suddenly the rest of the room realized what was going on. "Oh my God," Emily said, racing out of the room towards the courtyard.

* * *

Chase and Morgan reached the fountain only to find remnants of the missing agent. Reid's messenger bag and cardigan were lying in a heap near the fountain, and there was a discarded section of metal pipe that lay nearby in the grass. On top of the bag was a large manila envelope. Chase wrapped her fingers inside her sleeves and gingerly picked it up. As she opened it, several photographs fell out.

Morgan picked up one of the photos and cursed, his face contorted in a furious scowl.

Chase's own face bore absolutely no expression. It was as if she had lost all emotional feeling whatsoever.

"I'm not waiting for CSU," she said finally, the tone in her voice betraying nothing. "Take it all to my office. I want some time alone with these."

"Me too."

"In time, Agent Morgan," Chase said flatly. "Because what I'm about to do to get your friend back is something you and yours want no part of, believe me."

"We'll get him back. We have before."

"I know."

Morgan then looked at the young woman standing next to him, incredulous. "You _know_?"

"You're going to find that I know more about a lot of things than most people think. This Lavinia? First time I've been caught off my game. Not anymore."


	13. Precaution

**Please see disclaimers in CH 1.**

* * *

The door slammed shut, startling Reid out of a fitful sleep. His breath came in short gasps after being scared out of him by the sounds of the door and the footsteps of 'Lavinia' steadily coming closer.

"What are…" the agent began, then remembered the response he'd received earlier when he'd spoken. Picking up his hands, he waved a little to try and get his captor's attention.

--What?!—the young man signed, his gestures forceful and irate.

--Why are you doing this?—Reid asked.

The figure in front of him stood silently for a moment, as if pondering the answer to that question. –Because.—

_Oh, terrific,_ Reid thought. –Why am I here?—he signed, furrowing his eyes up towards the young man with the key to his shackles.

--In time. All in time. You've made quite the stir over in Miss Davis's office,--he added, smiling. –Never seen her like that. Your friends weren't too happy either…--

Reid only caught about half of the conversation, but he surmised that by now the team knew what had happened to him. He tried to lean his head against the thick wall behind him, but the part of his head that could reach was the part that had been bashed in by something hard just before he woke up in here the first time. He winced as the torn part of his scalp connected with the rough wooden wall.

--Hold still,-- the young man signed. –I want to take more pictures. The thought of actually beating hearing people at their own game…--

_Well, that part of the profile was completely right,_ Reid thought._ This kid's got some serious issues with people who can hear…_

The young agent waited until his captor turned to look at him, then signed a quick question: --What does it feel like to be thrown away?—

The response was immediate. –What makes you think I was 'thrown away'?—

Reid's mind raced, searching for the signs he'd learned in such a short time. –You hate hearing people, either because you're not like them or because they threw you away.— Reid held his hands out flat, palms up, and began to wiggle them up and down a bit as if he were weighing something on a scale. –Which is it?—

--You wouldn't understand.—

--Why? Because I'm hearing?—

--Pain in the ass. I should have just killed you like the rest.—

The sign for 'murder' was one that made Reid sit up and take notice, especially since the next sign after it was a finger pointing directly at him.

--All these people,-- 'Lavinia' began, his face contorted with fury. –All these people who want to become something they aren't. Like being deaf is a _problem_, not a difference that can be embraced. Forcing people to think that because we can't _hear_ we must be some sort of second class culture.—

Growing bolder, Reid picked his hands up again.

--And yet you killed a woman who was training for the deaf theatre and a deaf-rights activist.-- Reid was certain he'd mixed up a few of the signs, but the look on the younger man's face clearly told him he'd gotten the point.

--That boyfriend of hers would have wanted to change her,-- 'Lavinia' argued. –Or worse, they'd have gone off and had kids, which they'd have 'fixed' the same way he was.—

--You don't know that.—

--It's always the same,-- the young man signed, scoffing. –Hell, my family tried to 'fix' me, just because I wasn't 'perfect' like them. Never cared about me any other time; wouldn't even let me in the door for the Christmas party. I know where I belong, and now you're gonna tell those hearing friends of yours all about it.—

* * *

Chase stormed into her office without a word, taking up the manila envelope and slamming the door to her private office behind her. She sat down at her desk and laid out the photographs, five in all, and pulled out a magnifying glass.

She could hear voices just outside the door—the voices of Agent Morgan and his colleagues, discussing what had happened at the fountain. Chase deliberately tuned them out, knowing within about five minutes at least two if not all of the people standing outside would come barging through the door demanding to see the photographs.

There was no time for arguing. Chase knew what had to be done.

Just as she finished scouring the first picture (a rather unflattering picture of Reid soaking wet and blinded by the camera flash), the sounds of footsteps drew closer to the door and the doorknob turned violently on its hinge.

"When were you planning to tell _us_ someone took him?" a voice asked, its tone perturbed and irate.

Chase said nothing, but moved on to the next photograph. The problem was that there was nothing particular about the background that she could see—no windows, no light sources, no nothing except Reid staring out towards the camera, half aware, soaked from head to waist and in chains. "Clever," she murmured.

"What is?" That voice was Morgan's, and it was one she expected. Picking up the second photograph, she showed him the arrangement in which Reid was restrained. "Our girl's a deaf person," she said.

Now five pairs of eyes looked on at the photograph.

"How can you tell?" Rossi.

"Range of motion," she explained. "Your agent's not going anywhere, certainly, but he can move his hands and arms."

"So he could sign," Hotch realized, taking the photograph from Rossi and perusing it himself. "He wants Reid to be able to talk to him."

"Yep." Taking the rest of the photographs in her hand, she strode past the gaggle of agents outside her office and headed straight for Kyle's desk. –I need you to scan these and put them up on the board, blown up by at least two,-- she instructed. –Now.—

Kyle began scanning the photos at once. Omitting the first two, which had been scoured, Chase flipped through the slides towards the third one. –Can we isolate the backgrounds in these first?—she asked.

--Yep.-- A few quick keystrokes and the image of Reid darkened, leaving only the background surrounding him.

Chase tuned out every other thought and sound as she studied the photograph. The wall behind Reid was made of wood—pine, nothing fancy—and looked fairly new. Again, there were no windows or outside light sources, which didn't give her much to go on.

"Next," she said, motioning Kyle to go on to the next photograph. Again, it was one of Reid taken by surprise.

"These aren't going to tell us anything else," she said finally, slamming a fist into the nearby desk. "They're notification, nothing more."

"You mean this Lavinia's only telling us she's got him?"

"Exactly. That, and she's in the mood to talk." Motioning towards two of her officers, she hastily signed something and handed them a printout Kyle had run off while she had been at the fountain. The officers nodded and left.

"Where are they going?"

"To sit on Jeremy Brennan's house," Chase said flatly. "I'm going to have to go back over there soon anyway, but I want another look at those notes Reid made with Beth Carrier." She walked back into her office, opening a tall closet and picking out a few things to put in a shoulder bag of her own.

"What's all that for?" Rossi asked, noticing a couple of full clips peeking out of the opening on the small bag.

"Precaution."


	14. The Notebook

**Please see disclaimers in CH 1.**

* * *

There was a notebook and a pen lying on top of a small table in the windowless room. "Lavinia" reached over towards it and tossed the articles at Reid.

--You're going to write what I tell you,-- he said. –_Exactly_ what I tell you.-- The younger man pressed a closed fist onto his right temple, then pulled the hand away while extending his index finger upward. –Do you understand?—

Reid looked at the notebook. Then he looked at 'Lavinia.' He shook his head. –I'm not writing anything,-- Reid signed, getting the sign wrong for 'anything.'

'Lavinia' reached into his back pocket, pulling out a small object that made Reid's eyes grow wide. It was a Benchmade, a four-inch blade that looked more than sharp to the profiler. Flicking it open, Reid saw the point of the blade coming closer towards his throat.

--Oh, yes, you are,-- 'Lavinia' repeated. Gesturing with the knife, the younger man made his will obvious: _pick up the pen and write._

_Maybe there's a way to slip something in this letter, _Reid thought. Unwillingly, he picked up the pen that had been thrown at him and pressed the point against the paper. The soft rattle of the chains served as a reminder that a lot depended on 'Lavinia's' good graces.

The younger man began signing rapidly. Reid struggled to keep up, missing nearly two-thirds of the 'conversation' his captor seemed to be holding more for his own benefit than anyone else's. Every time the profiler signed the words 'say again,' there was a sharp lash in his direction—usually a kick to the legs.

--Pay attention,-- 'Lavinia' admonished. –How does it feel to be on the outside of the conversation for once?—

Reid caught the gist of that, but didn't answer. Even the case in Mexico had been easier, but then again, he'd had a base of knowledge to work with—and not one, but several good translators. Here, he had some working knowledge, but there was no one to translate when things got too fast or frenzied.

After what seemed like hours, 'Lavinia' finally stopped dictating. –Give it here,-- he said, reaching his hand out for the notebook.

The entire work was a manifesto of sorts, covering 'Lavinia's' reasons for committing the murders and stating his intention to continue until "The deaf community is left to its own devices," whatever that meant for the young man. The grammar was horrible, and Reid knew for certain he'd missed out on at least a third of the rambling that 'needed' to be in there. He did, however, manage to slip in clues of his own, though they were few. The soundproofing of the room left the profiler with no audio cues to his whereabouts, and there was no glimpse into the outside to even tell whether it was day or night. There was a smell, though, that caught his attention…

--Let's see how well your friends do at this,-- Lavinia said, just after cuffing Reid in the head a few times for 'missing' some of the words. –Maybe they'll figure out where you've been left in time…"

Though Reid didn't quite understand what the crazed young man was saying, the look on 'Lavinia's' face told him that it wasn't good—at least, not for him. He was never so relieved when 'Lavinia' confidently strode out of his prison and threw the locks on the outside of the door, leaving him alone in silence.

* * *

Jeremy Brennan's apartment was left just as it had been since chase had been in it last with Hotch and Emily. The two officers that stood guard over the place told the woman that no one had been by since they'd arrived, and that they had a photograph sent from Kyle on their PDA's for facial recognition. Chase nodded her assent and understanding, and strode inside.

_Okay,_ she thought to herself. _I'm a kid with some severe attachment and belonging issues. I've got a severe hatred of hearing people, and I've decided to kidnap one for purposes I'm not aware of yet. I'd want to go someplace safe, someplace isolated, someplace I've got complete control of and access to…_

Beginning in the living room, Chase turned over every nook and cranny of each room before beginning on the next one. She had just finished the living room when she heard a commotion at the door.

_Christ,_ she thought, pulling a pistol out of her shoulder bag. It wasn't standard-issue—not with a silencer and a modified clip that held more rounds than legal. She listened intently behind the wall, keeping her weapon at the ready.

There were footsteps, a shifting of light and shadow, and the sounds of someone going through the drawers in the kitchen.

"Okay, if I'm this 'Lavinia,' where would I go if I wanted to keep someone against their will?" a familiar voice asked.

"That's what we're looking for," said another voice, again familiar.

Chase heaved a short sigh of relief, and then lowered her pistol. Putting the piece back in her bag, she stepped into the narrow entryway to the living room.

"There's nothing in there," Chase said. "Scoured every inch. My guys had the computers taken up to the office for Kyle to go through—was there any luck there?"

"He just got 'em," Morgan said. The determination on his face was unmistakable. "Started running everything in them the second we left."

"He's thorough. If he finds something, he'll call." Chase strode over to a small door, putting one hand on the doorknob and the other inside her bag. She quickly turned the knob and pulled, revealing an unused closet.

"I hate doors like that," she said.

Behind her, Emily strode down the stairs, holding several pictures. They were of Jeremy in various places, with others and alone.

"Busy man," Emily said. "Looks like he's traveled pretty extensively over the years—he'd have no trouble finding a place to hide someone."

"Well, yeah, but wherever he took Reid, _if_ this is our 'unsub', it can't be very far," reasoned Morgan. "He was talking with the Carrier girl around four, and those photographs were set at the fountain probably around eight or nine-ish…"

"Meaning there was only about a two-and-a-half hour window to get to wherever he was going," Emily said, pulling out her phone. On the other end of the line, a cheerful voice said, "Fountain of knowledge—how may I dazzle you?"

"Garcia, I need you to pull up a grid of the Institute," Emily directed.

"Done. Wow. That place is _huge_."

Chase had been doing some quick math in her head. "Forty miles," she mouthed, making sure Emily understood.

"I need a forty-mile radius from the campus. Send me the map?"

"Not a problem. Downloading it to your handheld now."

"Thanks, Garcia."

"Don't mention it." There was a small _click_ as the tech signed off.

The three officials stood looking at Emily's PDA, seeing the sheer volume of space that Brennan could have hidden his latest victim in.

Morgan let out a low whistle. "That's a lot of ground," he said.

Looking at the pictures in Emily's hand, Chase said, "Maybe those will help…"

* * *

Kyle was scouring every inch of the computer's hard drive. He'd dealt with some nasty systems before, especially when Chase was doing some of her 'freelance' work, but this kid was really wreaking havoc on his methods.

--He was making sure no one read his files,--he signed to JJ, who was helping him go through the mountains of data.

JJ just looked on at the investigator, not really understanding what he'd just said to her. It was unusual for the normally social agent to be completely speechless—and not because she had nothing to say. She knew a couple of really basic signs, but holding a conversation was simply out of the question at this point. Pulling up a notebook, she wrote: _Anything interesting?_

_Mostly the usual—research papers, projects, reports, the usual. Kid likes first-person-shooters and the occasional quest game, too. _

JJ closed her eyes, a sure sign of frustration.

A quick series of taps snapped her out of her cloud. _Here's something,_ Kyle scribbled hastily, his eyes glued to the screen.

Two pairs of eyes looked on at the buried file; thousands of documents and photographs that began to tell a very disturbing and grotesque story.

* * *

"Dr. Janowicz?"

The sprightly man stood in front of his whiteboard, scribbling notes for a class on a large section of it.

Hotch reached forward and tapped the man on the shoulder, startling him slightly.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in!" the professor said warmly. "May I help you?"

"I'm Agent Hotchner, this is Agent Rossi," Hotch began. "Can you hear us?"

"Not at all. I'm profoundly deaf, but postlingual. I'm sorry if my voice is bad," the professor apologized. "You're here about those murders, right?"

"Yes," said Rossi, remembering to look directly at the man as he spoke. "We need to ask you a few questions about your speech classes…"

"Ah, public speaking. Not a popular class at times, but the kids need it if they're going to do well in a hearing-dominant society. What can I tell you?"

Hotch held out a series of photographs. "Do you know these people?"

Janowicz looked at each one, as if trying to recall whether he'd in fact seen them before. "Yes, all of them. They were in my speech sections this term—there are two of them. Why?"

"We think that speech, or public speaking, had something to do with what's going on."

"Now, I've had students get angry about having to take the class, but this?" the professor said, motioning towards the pile of faces staring up at him. "Never."

"This person would have put up a huge argument about speaking vocally," Rossi said. "Refused to speak other than sign, been withdrawn in class, possibly become sullen of disruptive…"

"This person might possibly have some serious issues with working with hearing people as well," Hotch added.

"There were a couple this term—one was so bad I had to take the affair up with the president," Janowicz said. "Never saw so much hatred for hearing people than in that boy…"

"Do you remember his name?"

The professor thought a moment. "Brennan, I think his name was…"

Rossi's eyes scanned the room, taking in the multiple paintings and prints from various plays and debates. One print caught the old profiler's eye.

"This print, it looks familiar," Rossi began. "Which play is this from?"

"Oh, that's a favorite around here—Titus Andronicus. Bloody play, lots of violence, but people really resonate with poor Lavinia and her predicament. In fact, that young man, Brennan, he took a real interest in the whole thing…liked it so well he wanted to do a paper on the subject. Kept asking me for insights on how she would have been played…"

The two profilers were satisfied—they were certain who 'Lavinia' was. Thanking the professor, they headed back towards the security office.

* * *

Kyle and JJ were only about a quarter of the way through the computer file when both tore their eyes away in disgust.

_How could anyone __do__ something like that and call it 'research'?_ Kyle wrote, looking as though he might be sick.

_You'd be surprised,_ replied JJ, looking a similar shade of green. Privately, she worried that Reid was looking like the photographs she was seeing rather than being alive and in one piece.

Just then there was a tap on a desk nearby. A uniformed officer walked in, holding another manila envelope. _We found this just outside the building_, the woman wrote, handing over the envelope. _Looked like it'd been there for a little while…_

JJ let Kyle and the officer talk while she opened the envelope. Inside was a notebook—one nearly filled cover to cover in handwriting. There was something familiar about it, though…

"Oh my God," JJ said, forgetting that no one around her could hear her.


	15. Photographs and Memories

**Please see disclaimers in CH 1.**

* * *

It took a few minutes for Kyle to realize that JJ was completely struck by what she was reading. He waved a hand over towards her, trying to catch her attention. "—What is it?--" he asked, concerned with the look on her face.

Startled, JJ picked her head up out of the notebook and turned towards the uniform who'd brought it in. "Where did you find this?" she asked.

After a minute, the uniform replied, --Outside the Keylon Building, near the revolving doors—why?-- When JJ shook her head in confusion, the uniform wrote down the information.

Opening the notebook, she laid it out in front of Kyle, pointing at the spindly writing that was more lopsided and jagged than usual. Picking up her own pen, she wrote: _That's Reid's handwriting._

Kyle scanned the first few pages, looking at the content of the writing. It was a rambling mess—opinions, observations, declarations; a complete manifest work from a severely deranged and single-minded individual.

_Like as not, 'Lavinia' had Dr. Reid write this to show proof he was still alive, _Kyle wrote. _That, or he was trying to make it look like it was one of your people behind the murders…_

_Unlikely,_ JJ wrote, shaking her head slowly. _Six people were dead __before__ we got here…the first theory is probably better…_

_I'm calling Chase,_ Kyle said. _This kid Brennan is definitely our 'Lavinia,' and there might not be time for the proper channels…_

JJ had known Chase sometimes did work for the same people the signed her paychecks off the books—now, she wondered privately just how far the young woman would go to keep from losing someone on 'her' team…

"Brennan's our kid," cried a welcome voice as two pairs of determined feet made their way towards Kyle's desk. "He caused enough trouble in public speaking to get noticed, and then took more than a healthy interest in Shakespeare's _Titus Andronicus—_particularly the role of Lavinia."

"We know," JJ replied. Tapping Kyle on the shoulder, she pointed at the computer file the two had been looking at before the notebook had arrived. "Look at these," she said. "This kid was completely obsessed with the idea of 'Lavinia' as a symbol and a metaphor for the champion of the deaf culture. Whatever this kid's got against hearing people…and then, this came," JJ said, handing the notebook to Hotch.

Hotch opened the notebook and quickly noticed the familiar handwriting that covered every page. "It's definitely Reid's," he concurred. Taking the nearest available seat, the lead agent began poring over every word inside of it. Knowing Reid as he did, he hoped the younger profiler had been able to slip in a few clues regarding his whereabouts.

"Hey guys," another voice called as two more pairs of footsteps joined them. "Chase got a call—something about Brennan being our guy?"

"Yes—and we know for certain he has Reid," Rossi filled in. "Hotch is looking over a notebook filled to the brim with Reid's handwriting."

"Brennan let him _write_ something?" Emily chimed, confusion dancing across her face.

"Not what _Reid _wanted, I guarantee," said JJ. "Here, though—this file might have more to it than plans to emulate a 500-year old victim from a minor play…"

"Where's Chase?" Rossi asked, looking around for the young woman.

"Still at Brennan's apartment, looking over photos. The kid's been nearly _everywhere_ in the last ten years—finding where he took Reid is not going to be easy…" _Not like last time,_ Emily thought to herself.

"He keeps talking about water," Hotch said, looking up from the notebook. "How it cleans, how it feels, how it smells…especially the smell," he added, looking over the few pages again.

"—Smells like what?—" Kyle asked.

"Dirt. Fish. Plants, algae, like clean water running downstream…"

"Chase guessed there was about a forty-mile radius that Brennan could have taken Reid to and still had time to set the photographs near the fountain around eight and nine," Emily remembered, pulling out the map on her handheld that Garcia had sent. Kyle took the device and loaded the map onto the projection screen.

"That's a lot of ground to cover," said Rossi.

"That's what I said," said Morgan, looking like he was ready to scour every inch of it—by himself, if necessary.

Suddenly a flash popped up on Kyle's screen—it was Chase, beaming a signal from her phone. "—Hey, any luck?—" the woman asked.

"Brennan's our unsub," said Morgan. "He documented every murder and wrote out reasons why their death would 'help' preserve deaf culture. He connected each one to the role of Lavinia, and decided to 'take away' their means of communication when they died."

"Oh, great. Well, these photos are certainly varied, but here's one place that keeps cropping up—some log cabin near a river. There's at least two dozen pictures of him there: alone, with friends, at night, middle of the afternoon, you name it. I'm coming up now to have them scanned in."

Kyle tapped something into his keyboard, which spelled out into Chase's Palm Pilot. "--Yeah, there was a river in several of them…why?--"

More tapping.

"--Okay, I'll set it up,--" the woman replied. Taking one of the photos from the pile next to her on the small kitchen table, she held it up for her colleague to see.

Kyle stared at the photograph for a long moment. Then, excitedly, he tapped on the image of what looked like a normal rock formation lying near the side of the river.

--See that? We both know where that is!—

Chase looked at the picture again, letting her own memory serve her. Then she realized what the formation was.

"I know what river they're on," she said. "I'm coming up to get you—I'll explain on the way. --Kyle, put in a call for the usual to come meet us there—we're going to need it.--"

* * *

Reid never thought silence could be so crushing.

He'd spent a lot of time alone, both as a child and now (though less so now), but there had always been some form of sound to remind him that other things were happening in the world—the sound of coffee percolating, the songs of birds that flew nearby, the sounds of traffic and dogs barking and electric machines humming…

Here, there was nothing but the sound of his own breathing and the persistent clatter of metal against wood.

The windowless room bathed him in opaque blackness—it could be daybreak, for all he knew, and still he would see only dark. 'Lavinia' had flipped off the light switch as he'd left.

The only thing that reminded Reid that there was still a world outside of his clean, dry tomb was the smell of fresh water. Not like water that came out of a tap, but the kind that you could smell in a lake, or a river—it had a calming, peculiar scent, and it had been one Reid liked from the moment he set foot near a lake in Virginia. There was something about the smell of the water there that put him at ease.

_I know I'm near fresh water, and that the place is isolated—so probably in the woods,_ he thought. _But why the soundproofing? He's deaf, after all—he really wouldn't need it…_

Then Reid thought about himself in his current predicament. _Perhaps he planned to 'take' a hearing person all along, _he reasoned. _Maybe show them what it's like to be 'deaf'…_

Only the sound of his chains and his breathing reminded Reid that he could in fact hear. _It's like I was buried alive_, he thought. _Buried alive in a clean place full of air…_

Suddenly the door swung open and the dim light flicked on. 'Lavinia' was back, bringing up a plate and a cup. Wordlessly, he handed the items to Reid, then signed something the profiler didn't catch as 'Lavinia' turned on his heel and left, flipping the switch and setting the bolts on the door.

The room was swathed in blackness once more. Reid found a sandwich on the plate and water in the cup, and availed himself of both. He was starving, and the last thing he'd eaten was a doughnut in Chase's office. Once finished, Reid set the plate and cup to the side and began running his fingers over the shackles that held him in place. They were smooth, and in the dark it was impossible to determine where the two parts connected to create the bracelets around his wrists and ankles.

_Too new,_ he realized.

Reid tried to stand to work out a few cramps in his legs, but the length of his restraints made even standing upright impossible. He settled for stretching his legs outward as far as he could, which helped a little.

_Might need them in working order later,_ he thought, knowing it was only a matter of time before 'Lavinia' turned him into a corpse like the rest. _Come on, guys, hurry…I know I left at least one clue that should tip you off…_

* * *

Jeremy Brennan sat outside on the old dock, lazily dangling his feet into the free-flowing river. He'd loved this place from the moment he saw it—the isolation, the smell of the river, the thousands of opportunities and memories he'd made here. He loved it better than being at home, with the family who barely acknowleged his existence. He took the money out of his account (which was always full, seeing as his parents wanted nothing more than to keep him out of the public eye) and bought it at once when he'd learned it was for sale. He bought it under a shell identity, being that he had only been seventeen when he purchased it. The place was untraceable, just like his family thought he was supposed to be.

Jeremy thought about catching some fish to feed to his new 'tenant,' but the dark had set in fast and made for difficult fishing. He smiled at the thought of keeping a federal agent—and a _hearing_ one, at that—locked away into a facsimile of his own world—dark and silent. Perhaps then he'd understand why it was so important to have a deaf culture—to have a place to belong to that wasn't infringed on by 'everyone else.'

A lightning bug flew by, then another. The wind picked up and blew steadily across his face, and he could see the shadows of willow branches swaying gently in the breeze. The moon cast a soft light over the water, and the sharp triangle of Pyramid Rock reminded Jeremy that at one time, there had been silence in the world. For him, there always would be.

The water temperature cooled rapidly, causing him to pull his feet out of the river and dry off. He thought about his captive there, on the second floor, trapped in a dark, silent room with no knowledge of what was going on outside—not like _he_ could, with sight and touch and smell.

The agent was a fast learner—he'd give him that. In just three days the man had learned enough sign to hold his own, though he wasn't nearly proficient. He might have made a good deaf person…

He thought lazily on his next move—his family. He wanted them to understand what it was like, being isolated from his own 'people' because he wasn't 'like' them. _Deafness isn't a problem,_ he thought. _And soon, they'll finally realize that…maybe after a couple more days with this one upstairs. He's proving to be more fun than I thought…_

With that, Jeremy strode inside, locking the door behind him (five times) and settled into bed. Tomorrow was another day—and he'd have other things to worry about, more than likely…


	16. Surprises

**Please see disclaimers in CH 1.**

* * *

An hour later, the team found themselves standing on a remote stretch of highway near a sign marking the east bank of the Sable River. A flurry of activity was already taking place as no less than seven vehicles were parked nearby, with people milling about and readying flashlights and firearms alike.

"What's all this?" Morgan asked, confused. He wasn't entirely sure the people in the other vehicles could hear him or not.

One young man seemed to have heard him, and walked over. "Chase had us called in—you must be the FBI people, right?"

Five heads murmured their assent.

"I'm Jack."

"What exactly _is_ this, Jack?" Hotch asked. Though the profilers had tried to get a read on what was going on, in all honesty it was like nothing they'd ever seen. Militias didn't act so cordially with others (especially people from the government), and these were certainly no vigilantes…

"_This_?" Jack looked at the extended hand that waved towards the group milling about. "Oh, this. Well, usually the college handles their own affairs—there's really not much of a police presence here—but evey now and again they come out to help those of us around here with some problem of sorts. We're here to return the favor."

"Problem?"

"Yeah, domestic disputes, DUI's, things like that. Sometimes things more serious, if you catch me. We got that call from Kyle up at the school, saying Chase needed some help, and now here we are."

"Thanks." The team leader really didn't know what else to say.

"No problem." Reaching his hands out, he signed as well as spoke. "—All right, we're looking for Pyramid Rock, folks. I know that's down a ways, but we'll be looking for a house or building near there. You find it, you yell, understand?"

There were murmured assents all around, and more than a few nodding heads.

Chase caught up to the group, signing something quick to the de facto leader of the party. She then pulled out her own weapon and started for the dirt trails that lead into the thick grove of trees, pairing herself with Emily.

"Here goes nothing," said the younger woman as she quickly picked her way into the forest.

Emily said nothing, but her worry was evident on her face.

"Don't worry—I hate to say it, but this time we have the advantage."

Emily looked up into Chase's half-lit face. "How?"

"We don't have to be quiet to surprise Brennan."

* * *

Morgan had paired himself with Jack, who was walking quickly along the bank of the river. Every so often he had to stop and wait for Morgan, who was trying to consider the best footholds and places to put his feet on the uneven and sometimes slippery ground.

"Good thing quiet's been taken out of the equation," Jack mused as Morgan swore under his breath after tripping on another exposed root.

"I just want to get there before that kid kills another person," Morgan said flatly, clearly annoyed that he was tramping through the woods in the dark to find their unsub.

"Seems a shame, don't it?" Jack asked. "From what Chase and Kyle said, it sounds like this kid's got more issues than National Geographic."

"So do a lot of people, but they don't go around _killing_ people to get the point across."

"Yes, that's true. What could make someone resort to that?"

"When we catch this kid, I'll have you ask him. My friend out there picked up the language a bit, but to me it's all just hands movin'." Morgan actually looked a bit sheepish at that admission.

* * *

It was a very quiet walk for Rossi. His 'partner' turned out to be completely deaf, but had assured him he was capable of lip reading. The man's name was Amos, and he looked as determined as anyone to find their missing agent.

As they walked along the banks, Rossi took in the stillness of the place. Aside from the rushing of the water in the riverbed, there wasn't a sound to be heard—no bugs humming, no night birds calling out, no sounds of footsteps other than their own. _A person might think they'd gone deaf, if not for the river,_ he thought.

Rossi knew that the river was the clue that Reid slipped into that rambling manifesto he'd been forced to write, and took in a deep breath as they walked near it. The water smelled clean, and plant-like; a deep, earthy smell that was tempered by water and fish.

_There really is nothing like the smell of a river, _the agent thought. _Hopefully it's enough to find Reid…before it's too late._

* * *

Kyle had come along, throwing himself in the passenger seat of Chase's SUV before she'd left the campus. –I'm going too,-- he'd signed as she looked at him in consternation.

--You can't shoot. Not for lack of me trying to teach you.—

--I'm good enough. Plus, I know what I'm looking for out there.—

The determination in his eyes was enough to relent. –Fine. You get shot, I'm saying 'I told you so.'—

--Whatever. Drive.—

Now, walking along the river, he put his eyes to good use. He knew that Pyramid Rock was more than a mile out from the highway access point, and likely that had been the point of Brennan choosing the area as his hideaway. _Couldn't have picked a more beautiful place,_ he thought to himself as he led Hotch along the narrow trails near the riverbank.

Hotch, for his part, followed close behind, letting the younger man in front of him become his eyes. Chase had pulled the team leader aside and privately asked him to pair up with Kyle. "You're the best shot here, and I don't want anything happening to him," she explained. "Please." Hotch had been so surprised by the request that he'd agreed—and learning that Kyle had been to the place they were looking for before had helped make the decision an easy one. Personally, Hotch wanted to be there first, so he could take Brenan before the young man tried anything with his agent.

The pair had been walking for what seemed like two hours before Kyle started pointing at something in the distance. Hotch squinted to get a better look, but he could vaguely make it out—the shale rock formation that resembled a pointed side of a pyramid.

Picking up his cell, Hotch made a quick phone call. "We're here," he said. "Going in for a closer look."

Kyle had already picked his way to the side of the river, scanning the shoreline for signs of life—a house, a cave, something to tell them that Brennan was close by. The dark night wasn't helping matters much.

"If he's there, I can't see where he's holed up," Kyle said slowly, trying to make sure Hotch could understand him. The older man nodded to show that he'd caught the gist of what had been said.

Hotch himself looked on, hoping to find what Kyle might have missed. He looked down into the riverbed, watching the current push eastward and around the small rocks that lay in the bottom. Suddenly he noticed the current making an unusual curve in a straight section of the riverbed.

Tapping Kyle on the shoulder, he pointed. "See that?"

Kyle looked on, moving his eyes upward. "It's a dock," he said finally. "It's hidden mostly by the tall grass and the dark. They're probably across the river!"

Hotch thought about the next move. They could wait for the others to arrive, but there was no way of knowing what Brennan was up to at that moment—including possibly murder.

"We're going," said Hotch, pointing a stern finger across the river. "Can we cross this?"

Kyle nodded. "Shallow," he managed to get out.

The older man sat down on the bank and took off his shoes and socks. Kyle did the same, and slowly the two began to ford the freezing river, making their way across.

Hotch pointed another finger up towards a glint of light—it was the moon casting a reflection off a pane of glass. Just eighty yards ahead of them lay a two-story cabin.

"Let's go," he said, motioning Kyle to stay in back of him.

* * *

Upstairs, Reid sat in total silence. He'd thought about screaming, doing something to be heard, but the soundproofing would make that sort of thing pointless. He'd tried pulling at his restraints, only to find they wouldn't budge.

It was only a matter of time, he kept telling himself. _Either the team will find me, or 'Lavinia' will kill me…_

Reid had decided early on that he wasn't going without a fight. He'd learned a few things from Morgan since the incident in Georgia, and he kept going over the motions in his head to ready himself.

_Hopefully it'll be enough,_ he thought.

* * *

Downstairs, the front window was being broken. Hotch and Kyle had tried the door, but with five deadbolts the wooden barrier just wasn't coming loose on its own.

The two men carefully crawled in, minding the shards of broken glass. Hotch cleared each room before allowing Kyle into them to check doors. Every time, the door opened without incident, leaving an empty room.

Making their way down a long corridor, Kyle's eyes spied a door on the end of the hall. "If I were Brennan, I'd make that my room," he said. Making their way to the door, they found it unlocked like all the others. Hotch carefully crept in, keeping an eye for anything that moved.

On the opposite wall, snoring peacefully, lay the sleeping figure of Jeremy Brennan. Hotch was grateful that he could simply walk up to the man unnoticed and place him under arrest.

As the handcuffs tightened around Brennan's wrists, the young man woke up. He bucked a little at first, screaming incoherently, but when he was brought face-to-face with Kyle he relaxed a bit. A slow smile crept over his face.

--Where is he?—Kyle asked, his face a block of granite.

Brennan's eyes widened in mock-surprise.

--Where is he?—Kyle repeated.

Brennan shook his head. He wriggled his hands, which had been bound behind his back.

"We need to put his hands in front," Kyle said. "Standard for the deaf, so they can talk."

Hotch gave Kyle the key, and then trained his service pistol on the defiant young man, silently daring him to make a move. Kyle carefully rebound Brennan's hands in front of him, and then repeated his question a third time.

--Where is he? Tell us, or we tear this place apart. And I can't promise that guy over there won't shoot you.—

--He's government. He can't shoot me. And have at it; I'm not telling you anything, sellout.—

Kyle shrugged. "We'll need a lot of help," he said slowly. "He's not telling us anything."

Just then a welcome sound echoed through Hotch's ears, and his eyes traveled down the corridor towards the sound of something knocking.


	17. On the Other Side of the Door

**Please see disclaimers in CH 1.**

* * *

"Go let them in," Hotch said, still keeping his weapon trained on Brennan. Kyle walked to the front door and threw all the locks, allowing Chase and Emily inside.

--This the place?—Chase asked, her eyes actively searching for signs of their suspect.

"—Agent Hotchner has him, in the back,--" Kyle replied, pointing his extended arm towards the room at the end of the hall. "—He's refusing to say anything.--"

Emily's frown deepened. _He could be keeping Reid anywhere,_ she thought.

"Don't go thinking that," said Chase. "I'm going to have words with him." Thinking a minute, she noticed the partially open door near the kitchen. –Take Emily and see what's upstairs,-- she told Kyle, knowing that his visual perception was better than her own.

Kyle nodded, and then motioned to Emily to follow him.

Chase, meanwhile, strode down the hall to where Hotch was standing guard. Tipping her head to the senior agent, she looked square at the young man who'd terrorized her home and murdered eight of the people who'd lived there. –You know who I am?—she asked.

Brennan's head nodded, the malicious smirk still present. –Chase Davis.—

"—Good.--" Turning to Hotch, she asked, "He was asleep?"

"Yes. He's not talking, either—sign or otherwise."

"We'll see about that." Chase pulled up a stray desk chair, turning it backwards and setting her arms across the back of it as she sat down. Turning to their suspect, she signed, --You've decided not to talk?—

--Why should I tell you anything? It's not like you'd understand.—

--Try me.—

--You hear.—

--Yeah, I do. What of it?—

Brennan snorted. –It's not like someone's trying to turn you into something you're not…--

Chase tipped her head, causing her to look at Brennan from a slightly tilted angle. –Really?—

--You don't understand. I was trying to save us from being eradicated!—

--'Us'?—

--The deaf. All these people, thinking that it's a sin to be deaf, that if all of us can be 'fixed', it'll solve the 'problem'…there_ is_ no problem! There's nothing wrong with us!—

--You mean, wrong with _you_.—

--No. Us.—

Chase turned completely around to look at Hotch, then said, "I'm just making him think we're talking about something important. Just nod your head a few times like you're agreeing with me, okay?"

Hotch tipped his head a couple of times, the stony exterior still hardened over his face.

On the bed, Brennan grew angry. He picked his hands up to tap Chase on the shoulder, but the sight of Hotch's firearm still trained on him stopped him from getting up. He settled for stomping his feet on the ground as hard as he could.

--What?—Chase signed, turning back around.

--Pay attention to me!—

--Why? We have you now, and we'll be finding our friend in a few minutes, so what's the point?—

The smirk grew on his face. –No, you won't. You won't find him.—

Chase threw her head back and laughed. The whole thing wasn't funny by a longshot, but the kid's arrogance just struck her.

--What's so funny?—Brennan signed, his face a mask of confusion and rage.

"What's so funny?" asked Hotch, equally confused.

"—This kid,--" Chase said. "—Here he goes out trying to 'educate' hearing people about 'fixing' the deaf, because we're arrogant pricks, and he's sitting here thinking that we're obviously stupider than rocks. Can't you hear that sound up there?--"

Hotch fell silent. There was a sound coming from upstairs—it sounded like footsteps, and doors creaking. He tipped his head, showing he heard it.

--You see? He's calling out. We'll find him.—

--Impossible!—Brennan signed furiously. –You're lying!—

Chase struck him once, straight across the face. –I do _not_ lie,-- she signed fiercely. –Remember that.—

--But _how_?—Brennan signed, more to himself than to Chase or Hotch. –They told me that the soundproofing would hold up practically forever…--

Chase smiled, and then walked out of the room.

--Where's she going?-- Brennan signed. Hotch, not being able to decipher the gestures, merely stood guard. The sounds of more agents and searchers greeted his ears, and finally he and Rossi managed to take Brennan into custody.

* * *

Upstairs, Kyle and Emily began searching every door. They used the same method employed by Hotch and Kyle when they'd first entered the cabin—Emily cleared and Kyle looked for traces of evidence—when suddenly they ran out of doors to open and rooms to search. If Reid was there, he wasn't on that floor.

Kyle shook his head. "We're nowhere," he said, the frustration garbling half of his words.

A few minutes later, Chase came up the staircase two at a time. "--Wherever Agent Reid is, it's soundproofed,--" she said. "—Brennan had one room soundproofed, for whatever reason, and that's why we can't hear him. I doubt he can hear _us_ looking for him.--"

--Hey, what's that?—Kyle said, noticing a panel of wood that was curved out slightly. Gingerly pressing against the panel, he released a corner latch that was embedded in the wood. The panel swung open to reveal a smaller staircase, with a door lying in wait at the top.

"I'll be damned," Emily said, the surprise evident on her face. Taking the lead, she took the steps carefully until she reached the door. "It's locked," she called out to Chase.

"Then break it down," the younger woman said.

"It's like the front door—five deadbolts," she called back. "There _is_ no 'breaking it down.'"

There was silence.

"Chase?"

More silence. Emily looked past Kyle to find the woman had vanished.

_She does that a lot,_ Emily thought. The woman then focused her attention on the door, pounding on it so that hopefully Reid could hear her. "Reid, can you hear me? We're coming in to get you—just hang on…"

* * *

Silence filled Reid's ears. Nothing moved. Nothing stirred. The young agent would have given a lot just to see a bug scuttling across the floor or heard the squeak of a mouse.

_I suppose when silence is all you know, it's a lot easier to live with_, he thought.

Reid knew full well that 'Lavinia' wouldn't return for him. He would be left to starve, and his corpse possibly left in public as a reminder of the villainy of hearing people. He would likely become the representation of Aaron the Moor, who had set the plot against Shakespeare's Lavinia in motion.

He wondered briefly who the soundproofed room had originally been built for. Reid knew that the odds of having someone like him crop up were too slim to bet on, and that the room had had another purpose.

He began to lie down on the wooden floor when he thought he heard the door rattle on its hinges. _Impossible,_ Reid thought. _There's no sound in this room—none comes in, and none goes out._

The rattle became louder, and Reid could swear he heard slight taps on the door itself, as if someone were tapping—or maybe _pounding_—on it.

His heart began to leap into his throat. _Could there really be someone out there?_ he hoped.

* * *

Chase stormed downstairs. "Where's Brennan?" she called out, knowing that there were a few ears that could hear her.

"Outside, in the car," one of the men said. "Those two agents took him out there just a second ago."

"Yeah, well, I need to talk to him," Chase muttered, making a beeline for the vehicle in question. Brennan was sitting inside the car, his hands still bound, and Hotch and Rossi were standing near it.

"Open the door," she said to the agents.

"Why?" Rossi asked.

"I need to talk to him. Open it, now!"

The door was opened, and two pistols were trained on the young man as it was. –Where's the key?—Chase signed.

That smirk again. –What key?—

--You know damn well '_what key._'—

--I have no idea what you're talking about.-- _Let them suffer, _Brennan thought to himself. _It wasn't my family, but this might work out just as well…_

"I don't have time for this," Chase said, pulling out her H&K. Before anyone knew what was going on, she'd fired a round out of it that pierced the door on the other side of their suspect.

There was a flurry of activity and shouts after that.

"What the hell are you thinking?!" Hotch screamed.

"Are you completely insane?!" Rossi yelled.

"Look!" Chase said, raising her own voice to be heard above the screams from their suspect. "I do _not _have time for this. He wants to play games with me, I'm just going to shoot him. Now, I know I'll regret it later, but you know what? We'll have saved your friend in the process. Not a hard decision for me, how 'bout you?" She raised the pistol again, this time aiming for a spot where she wouldn't miss.

Brennan's screams grew louder.

Chase drew her head nearly flush with her suspect. "Where's…the…key?" she said, slowly and deliberately.

Terrified, Brennan pointed to his right pocket.

Chase tipped her head. –Thanks,-- she said, then raced back upstairs.

* * *

Emily was about ready to blow the locks off the door with her gun when Chase came rushing in the secret doorway. "Got it," she said breathlessly, handing the object up to Kyle, who handed it to Emily. The agent took the keys into her shaking hands and managed to get the key into the locks. As each one turned, throwing the bolt, the anticipation level raised just a little bit more…

* * *

_Click._

A sharp, metallic sound that came from the door. Reid's head spun on his shoulders, eyes wide.

_Click._

Perhaps 'Lavinia' was going to simply kill him now?

_Click._

Reid pulled his legs close, making sure he could aim them at his attacker.

_Click._

Reid thought about his teammates, and his mother. He hoped someone would look in on her once he was gone, and tell her that he'd put up one hell of a fight.

_Click. Squeeeeaaak…_

_This is it,_ Reid thought. Drawing a deep breath, he kept his eyes trained on the door, hoping that he could find some way out of what he knew was in store for him…

"Reid? Is that you?"

All anxiety drained out of the young agent the moment he heard that voice. "Yes," he called out weakly. "It's me. I can't get up, though—I'm chained…"

Another set of hands picked up his wrists, then produced a thin key. Within seconds, the metal bracelets were removed, and Reid slowly stood up to his full height.

"You going to make it?" another voice said—one he remembered hearing at a card table once.

"I..I think so," he said. His steps were slow, and careful from being forced into a tiny space for so long. "How did you…"

"It's a long, long, long, _long_ story," Chase said. Holding the door for the two agents, she and Kyle followed close behind as Emily supported the slight young man down the steps and outside of his eerily silent prison.

--Now what?—Kyle signed, looking up at his partner.

--Good question,-- Chase replied.

* * *

**There'll be an epilogue, so stay tuned!**


	18. A Few Hands of Euchre

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

The aftermath of the Brennan affair had produced very little fallout. Kyle knew that Dr. Reid would need a little time in therapy to sort through being cooped up in Brennan's attic, but otherwise the prosecution had gone without a hitch. He sipped on his usual thermos of Mountain Dew, studying the cards he held in his hands.

_No bowers, nine-ten trump, and only a queen-high,_ he thought, staring at his partner who deftly picked up diamonds as trump. Casting a glance over at Chase, he signed, --Why on earth did you pick that up?—

--Stay home. Give me your best card.-- The Cheshire cat smile on her face was impossible to ignore.

_Good luck with that one,_ Kyle thought. He fished out the ten of diamonds and passed it across the table. –Cam's gonna have us owing him again.—

On either side of him, the Stackhouse brothers studied their own hands judiciously. They could spot a loner when they saw one.

Chase merely smiled. It was a smile Kyle knew well; he'd seen it after she'd come back from one of her many 'freelance' jobs he often worked with her on. She had managed to avoid court, considering there was enough evidence to nail Brennan without needing to testify. Dr. Reid had given his statement, and the manifesto Brennan had forced him to write detailed every murder in detail. Kyle had had to make copies of the incriminating file he'd found on Brennan's computer, which outlined plans to 'eliminate' most of the hearing people the deranged young man knew.

--Notice who's not here?—she'd signed to him as the final sentence was dealt. Kyle scanned the room, seeing few spectators that weren't directly involved with the case of the campus itself.

--His family,-- Kyle signed back.

--Exactly. Surprised?—

--Not really.—

--Maybe when I go to D.C. next week I should have a chat with a few people,-- Chase mused, looking on at the young man who'd put such a stain on her home and her 'family.' Privately, Chase had considered just shooting the kid, but knew deep down that in this case it just wasn't the answer. Brennan needed help—and he'd get a lot of it where he was going.

Kyle settled back to watch as Chase made quick work of the Stackhouse brothers, collecting all of the tricks on the table in three quick moves.

--I'll be damned,-- Kyle said. –Both bowers _and_ the ace?!—

--My whole hand was a girl's best friend,-- Chase signed as she smiled contentedly, taking a long pull out of her chocolate cup. She made a horrible face as she swallowed. –Joseph, didn't you clean this thing out after that last time?—

--Washed it three times,-- the older Stackhouse said. –_You're _the one who let that government man use _your_ cup…--

--Better that I did, Joe,-- Chase signed back. –Otherwise you'd have been constantly refilling his cup the whole time he was here.—

Cameron smiled. –Ah,-- he signed, tapping his fingers on the table. –Chasie's been doing her homework…--

--What we do, Cam,-- Chase smiled, looking across at her partner. –What we do.—

Kyle merely nodded. He settled back to watch as Joesph dealt the next hand when he suddenly saw the doorman standing in the back entryway. –Yes?—he asked, looking at the young man with interest.

--Um, there's a couple of people here, sir, and they're looking for Miss Davis,-- the young man signed. –They said they know her from the incident up at the school…--

Kyle looked at Chase, repeating what the young steward was saying. Chase turned to face the young man, and moved her hands rapidly as she did. –Show them in,-- she said, her hand reaching for her belt.

Kyle tensed, his eyes looking at his thermos. He knew he could throw it with deadly accuracy, but it _was_ just a thermos, after all…

Relief washed over both of their faces as a familiar one peered in.

"—Mind if we sit in?--"

Kyle threw his head back and laughed. "—Come on in,--" he said, motioning the two visitors to have a seat at the table. The tall doctor slowly crept inside, holding the hand of his rather attractive friend with him.

"—What brings you here, Dr. Reid, Miss Garcia?--"

A sheepish look washed over both agent's faces as they took their seats. "I was telling Garcia about this place, and about this euchre thing…"

"And I decided that I'd like to learn how to play," Garcia finished. "Good thing there's this place not too far from D.C. …"

Chase looked at Kyle. Kyle looked at Chase. A slow smile grew on each of their faces.

"—Guys, I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship,--" Chase said as she motioned them to the seats being vacated by the Stackhouses. "Now, you're _sure_ you've never played before, Miss Garcia?--"

"Absolutely, and you can just call me Garcia. Could I get some coffee?" the plump woman asked hopefully.

Kyle strode over to the door and caught Joseph's attention. --Two coffees, Joe,-- he signed with a grin. –And make sure one of 'em's in a giant mug…--

* * *

**And that's the end, folks. Hope you've enjoyed the story. I'm thinking about writing another tale involving Chase and Kyle--any thoughts?**


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